By Peter Krug – September 2004

At 03.30 a.m. on a Sunday morning in July I was at long last, after several months of
training and preparation, on me way to Peru to hopefully break my own personal altitude
record in the year of reaching a personal significant age. Having been dropped off at
Naarwich Intercontinental Airport by Louise and saying our goodbyes I was on my way to Lima
via Amsterdam. I met up with some of the team in Amsterdam and identified the remainder
(including our leader Di Gilbert) in Bonaire where we stopped off for some fuel. I can tell
you it was an experience stomping around in the West Indies with plastic boots on! It was
scorchio!

Owing to an unplanned extension of our stay in Bonaire due to “problemos technicos” and a
long wait at Lima Airport whilst one of the team found out that his luggage was on another
continent (he was reunited with his gear about an hour before we were due to leave Huarez and start our acclimatization trek!) we made it to our hotel and barely had enough time to have a beer before going to bed.

We left gloomy Lima first thing the following morning. You might think that good old
Blighty might be cloudy most of the time but Lima has clouds almost continually – I still
remember sitting in a cafe, at the end of the trip, overlooking the almost “Stygian-like
waters” of the Pacific wallowing below me. Quite weird considering I was in the Tropics.

We made our way out of the city passing the shanty towns on the outskirts and into the
desert and then heading northwards along the Pacific Coast and then hung a right and headed
towards Huarez over a 4,000m pass. The journey took an age and wasn’t helped by the fact that
we were repeatedly stopped at various police “checkos-pointos” (you can see I was getting
used to the lingo) where the cynic in me suspects a little money might have changed hands,
and the fact that our radiator hose developed a leak.

However, eventually we found our way to Huarez and, fortunately, the next day was a rest
day to allow us to acclimatize (we were now at about 3,000m). We spent the day hanging around the hotel which was rather pleasant, souvenir hunting and in the evening went up a nearby hill to get what was claimed to be the best views of Huascaran which was the ultimate
objective of the expedition. Quite frankly most of us were rather disappointed with the
view.

The next day was when the fun was really supposed to start as we headed for our first
night of camping at Cashapampa. On the way we visited the town of Yungay which was completely wiped out by a landslide (following an earthquake) in 1970. Overall about 80,000 people died in that valley and it was a sombre reminder of what mountains can do because basically they were killed by lots of ice falling off our mountain – Huascaran. Having indulged in alpaca the previous day I fulfilled a long held ambition by dining on guinea pig (don’t tell our
guinea pig although I think he knows – he won’t look me in the eye). Early on the next day we
started on the five day acclimatization trek along the Santa Cruz trail in the Northern
Cordillera Blanca and including a couple of 4,750 m passes and was billed as ideal
preparation for Pisco and ultimately Huascaran. By the way when I say we I should point out
that there were (at this stage) seven clients being Stuart, Nigel, Duncan, Jens, Phil,
Angeleen (whose husband was on the Alpamayo team and was to join us for Huascaran) and yours truly plus the tour leader who I have already mentioned.

The first day involved a long plod up the gorge at the bottom of the River Santa Cruz
towards our camp at Laguna Ichiccocha and we were now starting to really appreciate the scale
of the mountains. This became even more apparent the next day as we made our way past yet
another beautiful lake (Laguna Jatuniccocha) to our camp at Taullipampa. We took the
opportunity to visit our Alpamayo team who were acclimatizing at base camp. I was looking
forward to seeing this beautiful mountain but it was largely shrouded in cloud and in any
case to get the classic view of its fluted face you need to reach the col camp at about 5,000
metres. However, there were many other giants in the area to entertain us including Quitaraju
(6,036) and Nevada Artesanraju (6,025). Our campsite itself was utterly dominated by
Taulliraju (5,830) and next to it was the Punta Union (4,760) which we climbed the next
day.

You could say that the ascent of the Punta Union marked the first significant milestone of
the holiday and we were chuffed to make it up without mishap, although it was a bit cloudy
and consequently the views were not up to much. We could not see much of the Hauripampa
valley into which we were now headed which involved about 1,000 metres of descent which I was not particularly looking forward to. The descent was somewhat enlivened by one of the team admitting to have suffered from a “wet fart” – yeah ok he (and it wasn’t me) followed
through, and the sight of one of the porters chasing a bolting horse. The campsite at
Hauripampa whilst being quite pretty was extremely busy and as a result there was a lot of
litter left lying around which was a shame.

The next day involved possibly the worst day’s walking of the whole trip as we made our
way down through Hauripampa and then headed up a dusty road to our campsite which was
basically in the middle of nowhere. Whilst the walking was somewhat non-descript it was quite
pleasant walking through Hauripampa and looking at village life and we did get views of
Nevada Piramide (5,885) which is essentially a spike and is quite simply stunning! The next
day saw us finish trekking by going over our second high pass, the Portachuelo Llanganuco
(4,750), and thereby getting some of the finest mountain scenery imaginable. On the left we
could see both the South and North peaks of Huascaran (6,768 and 6,664 respectively), the
three peaks of the Huandoy range (all over 6,000), then our next objective Pisco which at
5,752m is somewhat dwarfed by its neighbours and the stupendous fluted face of Nevada
Chacraraju which I felt to be the equal of Alpamayo. After surveying the scenery we had
another long descent to our campsite at Cebollapampa where we were successful in tracking
down some beer – RESULT!!

The next day was a rest day beside the flowing waters of the Quedrada Demanda before the
next stage of our expedition which was the attempt on Pisco Oeste which at 5,752 metres
represented our warm up peak. I was feeling fine as we left Cebollapampa and to Pisco Base
camp which was at 4,600 metres just below one of the huge moraines left by retreating
glaciers. The next day we were now carrying all our personal gear and had to clamber up this
moraine and through some more rubble and up yet another moraine as we found our way to Camp 1 – and bloody hard work it was too with all the extra gear! However, it was not as hard work as it was for our porters, one of whom (Justino) was seen carrying five tents plus his gear –
awesome! Things were getting a little spicy as well. We were aware that there were some huge
cornices on the face above us but that morning there was an avalanche (we had heard several)
which helped to concentrate the mind somewhat!

Earlier in the trek a couple of my fellow travelers having admitted that they had been on
a trek with an IMC member and suddenly whilst finishing off me pudding at Camp 1 on Pisco I
suddenly became aware of Nigel saying that he wanted to introduce a certain individual to
someone. I looked up and saw a familiar figure striding towards me, stood up in amazement and said “f*** me, it’s John Penny!”. Now what are the chances of meeting a friend on the same
mountain, on the same camp and on the same day but on a different continent? I don’t know but this is exactly what happened on the 5 August in the year of our Lord 2004!!!!!!

The next day was Summit Day, and various people had told us that this was a fairly simple
plod up some reasonably gentle snow slopes! Was it heck! An alpine start (3.00 a.m) saw us
make steady progress up to the col between Huandoy and Pisco and then we headed up the ridge of Pisco. Whilst there was only one spot that required fixing by the guides and the slopes
for the most part were quite reasonable, we had to cross snow bridges and jump the odd
crevasse and there were quite a few cracks in the glacier to step over as well. On top of
that we were aware of the cornices and the avalanche the previous day. Fortunately, it was
quite dark and all these factors became more apparent on our descent.

As it dawned it became increasingly clear that the weather was breaking as it was cloudy
and there was a piercing breeze, but onwards and upwards – the show must go on. Having
negotiated the fixed ropes we passed John Penny’s mob who were on their way down from the
summit. As I jumped one more crevasse I realised that we were on the summit ridge and the end was nigh – I mean in sight! It was with great joy that I made it to the summit. We were the
second rope there and we all hugged and congratulated each other, and to our amazement were treated to tea which had been carried up by the ever-willing Justino.

Once the third and final rope of our party arrived, and the photos were taken with partial
but nonetheless impressive views of the mountains that surrounded us, we retreated with haste hoping to get down before the sun (what sun?) turned the snow to mush. We could see the extent of the lack of snow which meant that there was a lot of crevasses which no longer were being filled by snow and it is reckoned by the guides that Pisco might not be easily
attainable shortly unless the crevasses were filled – pah global warming! Having faffed
around for ages at the fixed rope stage and done my first ever icy abseil which I enjoyed
(NOT!) we dashed off the ice, had a meal at Camp 1 and then struggled back across the moraine
shite back to base camp full of the joys of spring.

The next day we made it back down to Cebollapampa where we were picked up and taken to new Yungay – for those who weren’t concentrating old Yungay was under a pile of rubble – for some rest and recuperation. Now rest and recuperation involved finding a flea-ridden hostel and then getting completely trashed at The Point which was a seedy discotheque and was quite
fun!

Sore heads prevailed the next morning as we were driven to Musho where the main event, our
ascent of Huascaran, was to begin! The first part of this involved a steady walk through
eucalyptus forests, then scrubland, some more woods to Huascaran Base Camp which was at 4,300 metres and involved a lot of steady uphill. Nonetheless, we (now ten in number as the team was augmented by Steve and Barry who had joined us from the successful Alpamayo team) made it to Base camp in reasonable condition. Now I must say that I felt completely awed by the scale of this mountain. It was immense!

From now on we were supposed to carry all our personal gear and sacrifices had to be made
so off went the walking boots and on went the plastics even though we were not yet on ice.
Part two involved walking across and off course up some slabs which were fairly easy angled
and considering we were in a glacial area surprisingly smooth (due to the fact that there
must have been a lot of water flowing under the glacier) to Moraine camp. In the evenings we
had fantastic views of the North and South peaks basking in Alpenglow.

We had a day’s rest at Moraine Camp in order to acclimatize before things really started
to err ….. heat up. The next day we finished with the slabs, donned crampons and made our
way onto the glacier. After about an hour’s struggle in the heat of the afternoon sun we
found ourselves at Camp 1 and erected our tents on the snow ledges. Most disturbing perhaps
was the fact that my tent was situated about four metres from a crevasse and I made a mental
note not to forget that fact in the event of a midnight call of nature!

Things were about to get even more exciting as the next thing we had to do was negotiate
“The Garganta” which was possibly the crux of the climb. There were tales ringing in our
heads. Firstly, we had been told that there had been 37 fatalities on Huascaran in the past
few years and, secondly, we were aware that several groups were turned back by a large
crevasse which was negotiable by an extremely dodgy snow-bridge followed by a short technical section.

We had an early start, departing camp 1 at about 6.30 a.m., and the going was hard as we
negotiated seracs and crevasses and, at times, pretty steep. And on top of that we were at
over 5,500 metres. There were a couple of places which the guides “fixed” and thank god they
did! There would have been a definite refusal from yours truly otherwise. Tottering across a
couple of yawning chasms on ropey snow bridges is not exactly my bag! Nevertheless these two
tricky spots safely negotiated we had a couple of hundred metres more ascent before we
reached Camp 2 which was on the col between the two Peaks and was at an altitude of nearly at 6,000 metres and this proved to be extremely hard work.

Unfortunately, this is where it all ended for me. I was struggling with controlling my
sugar levels (I am diabetic) which weren’t behaving as they should and were basically too
high, leaving me drained of energy. The next day at about 2.00 a.m. I decided, having waited
until the last possible minute, that it was safer for me and the team not to go for the
summit. I did not want to jeopardise any of their attempts either. I also had someone at home
who I care for a lot and I knew I would be in trouble with her if I killed myself!

However, eight of the team did make the summit (at least they made it to the lower North
Summit as the South Summit was not climbable due to the existence of a massive crevasse)
which was great, and I will admit to a pang of jealousy as they returned.

After that it was simply a case of evacuating the mountain and retracing our steps to Lima
and ultimately home which was again exciting in “The garganta” with a couple of team members falling into the crevasses (fortunately they were attached to the ropes). I particularly
enjoyed jumping backwards onto a narrow snow-bridge and then walking along it for over five
metres until I reached relative safety!

Despite not making the summit it was a great holiday filled with some good experiences. I
met some fine people and once again I’m awed by the strength and kindness of the people that
looked after us. It is quite humbling. The scenery is magnificent and there are some scenes
which are indelibly printed on my mind and I learnt something about myself in that I was able
to make the “mountaineering decision” and not go “hell for leather” for the summit regardless
of the cost.

I can’t possibly finish on such a serious note and there are a couple of incidents which
livened up proceedings. Picture the scene – team comfortably ensconced at Huascaran Base Camp enjoying a brew. There were a couple of chickens, nicknamed Casserole and Provencal which had seen better days and quite frankly weren’t going to see many more. One of them was looking extremely poorly so Nigel picked it up and put it in the shade and put a bowl of water next to it. Suddenly it went into some sort of fit and fell head first into the water before being plucked out. As it lay on its back weakly turning it’s legs our beloved leader jumped to her
feet shouting “Urgh – Walter will somebody f*****g kill it!” and one of the kitchen boys got
his chopper out and complied with her request.

Now did I mention being fed with “Bimbo” bread and “Fanny” jam at Moraine Camp on
Huascaran? A veritable banquet for a tone lowerer!

By Lou B, John B, Mike H, Adrian F, Pete K & Kearton, aided by Phil C, Steve C & John H – March 2004

Early March saw an IMC trip to Scotland, with nine of us looking
forward to some serious winter mountaineering activity. Mike H did a
wonderful job of organising things, and re-organising at the last
minute for a late-comer. We stayed in Newtonmore. Being less than 30
minutes drive from the south-east Cairngorms and an hour from Ben
Nevis, this is a very convenient location. Apparently we were due to
stay in a bunk-house, but there must have been some problem with the
accommodation and we were actually put up in two rather luxurious (by
IMC standards) bungalows. Central heating – need I say more! It was so
good, we actually stayed in a couple of nights. Lou says “Thanks to
John Boy and Mike H for cooking up a couple of yummy dinners, and to
Steve for cooking my breakfasts, and to everyone else who did the
washing up. It is strange to see how well the lads can cope when they
have to fend for themselves!”

We flew to Glasgow Prestwick airport on the Wednesday night, which, as
usual for such cheap airports is the wrong side of Glasgow, so it was
2am before we managed to roll into bed on the first night. Needless to
say, it was not an early start the next day. We bimbled into Aviemore
to collect supplies, and bumped into Nigel Walker! Then on up to the
Cairngorm ski car-park and a trip to visit the ranger for weather and
avalanche forecast. The later was not good, so we pumped the ranger
for information. Funnily enough they are not keen on telling you what
to do!

Climbing Report

Day 1

The climbers found out that there was a short grade I/II ridge between
Coire an t-Sneachda and Coire an Lochain on Cairngorm. The climbing
party set up that, whilst the walkers went up the ridge on the east of
Coire an Lochain. Despite being little more than a scramble, Lou and
Mike still needed a rope for one section – Lou to get up it and Mike
to try out some more exciting grade II/III which he rather enjoyed.
Once we topped out, the cloud came in and Mike and Lou then discover
they are considered as the navigators of the party! Luckily the
visibility was never bad all weekend! The descent was mostly easy
apart from a rather ratty looking plywood ski-tow bridge, over which
Lou did a “bum glissade”, whilst Mike, rather more painfully twisted
his left (good) knee.

Day 2

Day 2 dawned bright and dry again. For those of us used to Scotland
this was a little un-nerving of course! The avalanche forecast however
was still high (3 out of 5). The climbing team set off back to Coire
an Lochain – this time to tackle a grade I route called “The Couloir”.
As we entered the coire a magnificent vista faced us, and a few of us
got somewhat scared by the options. It looked as steep as hell! It
also looked unstable. Lou said there and then that she was not going
as she had responsibilities, so she bimbled up to wait at the top. The
rest went to examine the problem more closely, with the understanding
that they could always chicken out and go up the snow slope to a col
at the right hand side of the coire.

Somehow, there was an IMC onslaught on The Couloir. After all it was
given a grade one in the guidebook so “What could go wrong?” And it
was possible to avoid the Great Slab and the Vent, the two avalanche
black-spots in that coire. After a hasty lunch we geared up and then
it was onwards and upwards. We all looked to Steve as the experienced
one in the group for advice, agreed that we were all concerned about
the risk of avalanche, and basically decided to skirt up the right
hand side of the gully seeking a bit of shelter from the snow chutes.
We studiously avoided the clear line of tracks heading straight up the
middle of the gulley! We – errrrr – thought that was asking for
trouble!

Anyway off we went making our merry way, nursing burning calves up the
slope. We were drawn as said to the extreme right hand side, and soon
we were well high in the gulley and already starting to feel more than
a little “exposed” as we looked down the gulley. After a little while
Steve (“our gallant leader”) came to a halt as he was sinking in the
snow almost to hip level and he could not make any headway because
every time he tried to step up, the snow just crumbled. I think he
turned pale at this moment. His colour didn’t return until after half
a bottle of wine that night. He stepped across and hastily dug a snow
pit [to test for avalanche risk]. It was OK at first, but when he got
through the top he got to some bad stuff which offered no support at
all, i.e., the axe just went though – and then Steve really started to
shit himself!

We looked at our options, decided to go down a bit after traversing
across the slope to the more avalanche prone-come-exposed area, and go
up that. Steve bravely committed himself to start the traverse, and
commented once he was a few metres across that he felt “Very alone!”
Anyway, our gallant leader made it across the worst bit and I followed
with the rest of the team in hot pursuit. We carried on upwards until
Steve, in trying to follow a rocky line (so that we could gain shelter
off a rocky buttress and then traverse into the couloir – we hadn’t
even reached the effin’ route yet!), was rebuffed. He could not go any
further, i.e., could not get his leg over.

Then Phil decided to lead traverse number two. After a few minutes
gingerly crossing the snow he said it was getting a “bit soft” but
nevertheless carried on. We followed (shitting ourselves) and
eventually joined the track of footprints which we had hitherto
studiously avoided because it was “dangerous.”

Now at long last we were at the base of the route! The approach was
bad enough but we were committed, and it was a long, long, long way
down. John Boy set off first and I quickly overtook him as I was off
and running in my haste to get out of there. There were four of us in
that gully running on 100% adrenaline – mighty strong stuff is that!
The couloir’s snow/neve was OK, but boy was it steep! It was now a
very long way down. The ice-axes were not going to stop a fall, and
that tends to get one’s minds extremely focussed!

I was first out the couloir. Phil joined me and we took the time to
take in the views and look at some mad bastards doing some serious
stuff in the “Savage Slit” area. Lou saw from our harrowed features
that we’d had an adventure and she had made the correct call, although
it perhaps took a few minutes for relief to set in! I looked at my
watch and saw it was only 2.15. To my surprise we had only spent about
an hour and three quarters of on the route, so it was not really an
epic but it was very spicy!!!

A quick post mortem (I use the term advisedly) confirmed as a result
of our caution we had made things difficult for ourselves – but we had
enjoyed ourselves…………… I think. It was then time to bag a
couple of Munroes as we headed back to the cars. The group split into
two with Steve, Lou and I choosing to extend our walk over Cairngorm
whilst John and Phil took a quicker route down. We got down to the ski
centre and found that our taxi was not there! (Mike was having the day
off as his knee was giving him gyp). He turned up half an hour later
and drove us to Glenmore Lodge for some medicine to soothe the frayed
nerve-ends – a grand day out!

Two days later, that corrie avalanched.

Day 3

We all decided to head west for a change of scenery. In order to
maximise the chances of finishing before her bedtime, Lou suggested
that we all be ready to start by 8am. Rather scarily, we were all
ready to start by 8am. So despite a map stop in Fort William, we drove
to Beinn a Bheithir just before the start of Glencoe and started
walking by 10am. Being the milder west coast, it was not totally
surprising that there was not much snow.

The climbing party set off for the Dragon’s Tooth, and easily made our
way out of the forest. It poured down as we reached decision point –
attempt to scrabble up the horribly steep hill to the start of the
climb or just go for a walk. We walked. We tested out the IMC bothy
tent at the col as there was a bit of a snow storm over lunch. That
was really good, so lunch was a leisurely affair! One word of advice
however, if you ever have to go into one, face the wind. I sat with me
head on my knees every time the wind blew strongly. The walk had some
good exposure towards the summit of the mountain, quite exciting in
descent I should think. And then the weather lifted and we had some
glorious views – including some of our line of descent, and I for one
was glad of that! Steep, but safe.

Day 4

Well, Steve’s feet are knackered, Mike’s and John’s knees are worse.
Lou’s wallet was burning. Guess what we did. And we were joined by the
rest of the walkers.

In the pub the night before, Phil and John Boy had been discussing
plans for a quick climb before coming home – the plans were well
lubricated. Luckily Phil and John kept missing each other in the
morning, so we were able to persuade each of them that the other was
still up for it, so off they went and did a good blitz up a slightly
“boney” Jacob’s Ladder in Coire an t-Sneachda. John had borrowed
Mike’s axes, and gave them a good workout until he decided he couldn’t
carry the extra weight (and I don’t blame him) ….what were they up
to….? John Boy takes up the story.

Sunday dawned grey, grotty and with just a hint of hangover. Despite
insisting that it would be a tight call to get out, up and back (even
if we didn’t get lost…) in time to leave for the airport, Phil and
myself were positively encouraged by the rest of the ‘team’. I could
swear that I kept half catching a sly grin quickly hidden by a bacon
buttie or a mug of steaming tea. Hmm… And the cottage/bunkhouse was
warm and cosy… but our big plans made in the pub the night before
were not to be thwarted (though we did try a couple of quick thwarts)
and off we set.

Mike dropped us off at the Cairngorm car park, and off we set for
Coire an t-Sneachda with the weather improving to just plain manky. We
didn’t care, the fresh snow underfoot and icy winds conspired to drive
out the remnants of last nights hangovers, and we were pleased we had
got out for the last day. We reached Aladdin’s Buttress and watched a
party retreat from our chosen climb which had a nasty looking ice
bulge blocking the route about 150 feet up, so it was decided to
traverse across to The Mess of Pottage and take a look at Jacobs
Ladder. Alternating the trail breaking in calf/knee deep snow we
panted up to the snow slope below the climb. By this time both Phil
and myself were well knackered. The visibility was still very poor and
we were getting pushed for time, so we agreed the sensible option was
to abandon the climb and head back. We had enjoyed just getting out
for the day, and with just the two of us, there was no time for an
epic. A sound piece of mountaineering judgement; I felt quite proud
to be so sensible.

Unfortunately right then the sun broke through the cloud and lit up
the most stunning ice and snow covered vista of the weekend. It would
have been very rude not to! So with grins as wide as the coire we
geared up in a flash and were off on the route. The going was steep,
the snow slightly more consolidated than on Saturday’s climb so shaft
plunging was the order of the day until a very ‘boney’ rock outcrop
about 200 feet up was reached. VERY careful pick placements were
required as we were soloing for speed and it was a flippin’ long way
down! This just about exhausted us, but with the snow being too loose
to cut a rest ledge there was no choice but to keep on climbing and
curse our pumped arms and burning calves. Anyway, only another hundred
feet to go… what could possibly go wrong? I mean we were even
catching another party up… that might be ‘cos they had reached the
crux… oh shit.

The last 20 or so feet were slightly overhanging rock with a very thin
plastering of ice. No way without protection and that 300 foot drop!
The alternate exit from the gully was a very steep mix of snow and
rock, and being horrendously exposed was no place for imprecise pick
or crampon placement. As we had no gear this was soloed as well, the
exposure certainly helped me focus at this point…A stunning climb
with a real sting in the tail!

Now all that was left was to get off the top, exhausted and with no
visibility. What could possibly go wrong? Phil giving me the map and
compass, that’s what. Luckily the sun reappeared briefly before I took
us too far out of the way and Phil performed a very fast, well
controlled glissade down the headwall of the Coire Cas. I followed,
gaining speed rapidly until my heels suddenly dug into the snow
throwing me into a series of dramatic feeling somersaults and cart
wheels, eventually managing to get my weight onto the axe and arrest
the fall. The rest of the walk out was uneventful until we reached the
bar and realised I’d lost the (borrowed) ice hammer. I was so upset I
had to drink beer. An absolutely excellent day in the mountains but
not quite as cheap as I had foreseen.

The Walkers bit

Day 1

John, Adrian & Kearton set of for an ‘easy’ loop around the climbing
area, but after only 20 minutes the mountain made its move by grabbing
Kearton’s boot and not wanting to let go. John & Adrian were all for
using penknives to cut the leg off, until they realised that they
would have to carry it back to the cottage for it to be sewn back on.
Then it was a case of removing gaiter & foot before extracting the
boot with as much force as possible.

The walk to the top of the plateau above the climbs started in
sunshine but ended in a blizzard. At the top of the ridge Adrian was
insistent on reaching the actual peak (Cairn Lochan) marked by a
cairn, despite it being on the edge of the cliff, both of which were
now invisible. “Just walk until you hear someone screaming.” he
insisted. “OK. You can lead.” was the response.

Luckily the mist lifted several times en route allowing us to get to
the cairn safely and then track around to the top of the ridge to meet
the others. As we neared the ridge we spotted the colourful image of
Phil’s home made jacket, and were just about to say hello when we
realised that the hooded figures weren’t our party. Someone has
obviously been copying Phil’s handy work (Time to sue?).

We then headed – indirectly at times – to and up Cairngorm and stopped
for a snack at the top whilst admiring the weather station. Adrian
said he fancied having a weather station at home. It must have heard
this as it quickly withdrew into its shell. The route down followed
the now empty ski runs and we got to the cars just in time to meet the
others.

Day 2

Lou decided that the walkers needed toughening up ready for the trip
to the west coast the next day and set us a long, but not so high,
walk to and up Bynack More & Beag. After dropping off Phil at Glenmore
lodge we headed off along what proved to be the most dangerous part of
route – the first kilometre along the track. It was covered in lots of
ice, so we considered putting on crampons there and then. After we
reached the end of the ice Adrian and John picked up the pace to make
up lost time and we reached a stable before the start of the hill.

From there it was a long steady slog over a snow covered track
(although the snow didn’t really start until we got up to ~800m).
After lunching at the base of Bynack More the sun came out and we
warmed up quickly kicking steps up the steep, firm snow. At the top
the sun highlighted the beautiful snow and ice formations on the rocks
and many photos were taken of these and the excellent views.

The route back was less interesting, especially the boggy track back
to the stable. From this point we made numerous partially successful
attempts to contact the others, but it was only when we got back to
the car that we got the only clear communication – a note under the
wiper saying that everyone else was in the bar at Glenmore Lodge,
where else?

Day 3

After actually getting away by 0800 we met up at a car park at North
Ballachulish. Louise had identified an easy but long walk for the
walkers.

“Just go over this bridge, up through the forest and onto the ridge.
We’ll meet you on the main ridge at lunchtime if we can get up the
climb in time.” These words were to echo in our heads for the rest of
the day.

We found the bridge but thereafter the troubles started. The path led
straight into someone’s garden. After much discussion we sneaked
though it, through a gate and into the base of the woods. The initial
steps were slow but steady, trying to find a route to the base of the
ridge. There the real fun started. What had looked like a fairly clear
area consisted of chopped down trees, stumps and holes with no clear
route through. After an age we reached the forestry track only to
encounter much the same conditions on the other side. Even when we
eventually reached the edge of this horrible terrain, we found
ourselves on a steep bushy heather covered slope struggling to make
progress.

Eventually John found a track which we struggled up to get our first
real glimpse of the ridge. The first 150m of height gained had taken
us over two hours and we only managed 450m by the time we needed
lunch. The sun had come out by now and we looked forward to exploring
the wonderful vista whilst consuming our hard earned sarnies. However,
it wasn’t to be. No sooner has we sat down than we were hit by strong
winds, rain and sleet.

After lunch we headed on up, into the sun, over numerous false tops
and eventually got our first view of Sgorr Dearg at the end of its
North ridge. From this distance it looked like a knife edge, and John
and Kearton started having reservations. Adrian was in a more
confident mood, despite his cold, saying that things often looked much
worse from a distance. At this point we also got excellent views of
the central peak of Sgurr Dhonuill (actually 23m lower than the first
peak, but possibly scarier) on the west side of the col, and could
make out six figures setting of up the ridge towards it.

By the time we reached the snow line we had realised that we wouldn’t
be able to make the whole ridge in a day. This was reinforced when we
met a guide and his party coming down from the peak, who advised us to
hurry up as the weather was closing in. He told us that there as a
safe path down from the col (the climbers ascent route in fact!),
which we decided to take. The snowy section at the top was, as Adrian
had suspected, not as bad as it had looked from below.

After a brief stop on the peak for photos and a snack we headed down
to the col just as the snow started. The path was slow in parts but
got us to the forest safely. There the fun started. With no clear path
to follow, we headed into the forest hoping to pick up the forestry
tracks. After several aborted routes we reached some picturesque
waterfalls and, despite several attempts, failed to find a safe route
past them. Eventually we headed back up to the forest boundary only to
find a well worn path lying just outside the fence. This led us
eventually to the forestry track. Much debate followed as to which
part of the track we were on, but a decision was made that led us to a
junction as expected.

Now according to the map an extra road should have been present, and
another debate followed resulting in a decision to head of towards the
mouth of the valley. This track took us much further out of our way
than expected, and yet another junction did not appear. (This adds
fuel to the argument for taking 1:25,000 maps as well as 1:50,000).
Eventually we rounded the hairpin we had expected to see twenty
minutes earlier and spotted the bridge across the stream. Just as we
reached the bridge, who should appear but the climbing group. They had
in fact found the path we had been seeking (it had been hiding).

After reaching the cars we decided to hit the local hotel bar for a
drink before heading back to the pub in Newtonmore for a meal. Plans
were thwarted once again as the bar wasn’t opening for some time. It
wasn’t even a Sunday (who says Scottish opening hours are better?), so
back to Newtonmore it was.

After a quick wash we headed off to the pub. The quickest out of the
door mentioned an easy path across the fields from the cottage and
promptly rushed off. The others, including Adrian in his Sunday best
shoes – but not his Sunday best mood, were left to pick their way
across the blackened landscape whilst trying to spot torches ahead.
After several meanderings we found a path around the edge of a field.
This however led us into thick brush and thorn strewn trees, then
diverting into a stream before eventually leading us into the village.
We did eventually meet up at the only pub serving food and liberal
quantities of Isle of Skye beer.

One other point worth mentioning is the wildlife. During our walks we
saw grouse, mountain hares, a ptarmigan, and in the cottage’s garden
we even had a buzzard and a stoat or ermine.

So, despite the fact that the snow conditions were not brilliant,
<Scottish accent> “boney” </Scottish accent>, and also very unstable –
we had a really good time – helped by the fact that the weather was
good so we could get out and about and enjoy the mountains. All in
all, an excellent trip. Thanks to Mike for organisation and both Mike
and John Boy for the catering.

And the worst thing about the trip? A climber says “We carried ropes
up the hill, we carried the gear up the hill; We carried ropes down
the hill, we carried the gear down the hill; We carried ropes up the
hill, we carried the gear up the hill; We carried ropes down the hill,
we carried the gear down the hill; We carried ropes up the hill, we
carried the gear up the hill; Why?” And do the walkers have a problem
with the tricky nature of Scottish paths?!

The End

By Darren Lambert – June 2003

I had been waiting for a chance to attempt this classic
mountaineering outing for years. May/June seemed to be the
ideal time for an attempt, so when our old mate Tim came
looking for potential partners, he needed to look no further.
The combination of school & public holidays in France &
UK, and the amount of annual leave left only a narrow window of
opportunity. The plan was to travel to Skye on the Wednesday,
walk to the start of the route on Thursday evening, bivvi,
complete the route on Friday, travel home on Saturday, attend
Mark Smith’s xth birthday party in Suffolk on the Sunday
(where for the mathematicians, 30ish<x<50ish).
Best the weather be good on Friday then.

The forecast looked reasonable, but by no means conclusive,
however we took a chance. Clare & I set out for Skye as
planned, picking up Tim at Glasgow airport, and arriving in
Glenn Brittle around 2am Thursday morning. As we emerged from
our tents at 8am, we took stock of our surroundings – plenty of
campers, the sea, the beach, and the low cloud. No visible
ridge. A call to the Culverhouse Weather Centre however
revealed a good forecast for Friday, and the instruction “Go
For It!”. So go for it we did. After a couple of hours
agonizing over how much gear (weight) to take, and a couple of
hours driving the car 15 miles to Sligachan then cycling back,
we set out for Gars-bheinn at around 6pm. Between three we took
two 50m half ropes, a basic rack (nuts 3, 5-10; Friends 1.5,
2.5, 3.5; two mid-range hexes; 4 quickdraws; and two 8 foot
slings each). Personal gear – Bivvi Bag, waterproofs,
Thermarest (wimps), Lightweight Sleeping Bag (wimp), food, 4
litres water, harness & helmet.

One of the guides describes the ascent of Gars-bheinn’s
scree slopes as “an early test of character”. Another mentions
“purgatorial”. I couldn’t describe it any better. We arrived on
the summit at 9.30pm, in the cloud, and it was cold – the bivvi
spots are right on the summit. Straight to bed then.

We had set our alarms for 5am although I didn’t need it. I
had been counting down the seconds since about 3am when I woke
up feeling quite cold. Clare seemed in the best humour as she
claimed to have been just warm enough in fleece, full Gore-Tex
and sleeping bag. I couldn’t wait to get moving.

We met a couple of disheartened souls travelling in the
opposite direction, just before the ascent to Sgurr nan Eag. It
turns out they had bivvied in Coir’ a’ Ghrunnda and were off to
bag Gars-bheinn, however they had already got lost in the cloud
on Sgurr nan Eag. They never did catch us. We were using Andy
Hyslop’s miniguide which we found excellent – very few wrong
turns over often complex ground. The guide saw us safely to
Sgurr Dubh Mor, and our second Munro. The cloud was kind of
clearing, and we were on guide-book time – just. Traversing
over Sgurr Dubh na Da Bheinn and down to Bealach Coir’ an
Lochain we overtook two more souls who had also bivvied in
Coir’ a’ Ghrunnda. They had bagged Gars-bheinn and Sgurr nan
Eag the previous evening – sneaky, and obviously not quite as
stylish as our own attempt of the whole ridge in one day. While
the sneaks scoffed cake, we scrambled up to the lip of the TD
Gap – reported to be the most technical bit of the traverse.
Abseiling into the gap we made a full assessment of the route
out on the north side – a steep green crack, absolutely running
with water. From the guide, we were to expect a grade of V-Diff
or Severe. Frankly, the theoretical grade was irrelevant. Rock
boots wouldn’t have helped, even if we had them with us. It was
treacherous, to say the least. Tim lead it and made it look
hard. By the time Clare had seconded, the cake-eating sneaks
had already decided they had no chance of leading it
themselves. They asked if we would take their rope up. We did,
and we would be glad later.

After I had also made the climb look desperate, we packed
the ropes and continued to the summit of Sgurr Thearlaich,
making the obligatory detour to bag the third Munro – Sgurr
Alasdair, the highest point on the island. By this time the sun
was out and we could see most of the ridge ahead. We had lost
time on the TD Gap, and we seemed to have an awful lot still to
do. Descending into Bealach Mhic Choinnich we had a brief
debate about the line of King’s Chimney, the second part of the
ridge that called for ropes. We agreed that it was the
streaming, dripping corner crack (what else?) with the move out
right under the overhang. Again, Tim stepped onto the front of
the rope and made it look interesting. Easier than the TD Gap,
but rock boots would have been welcome this time – for the
traverse under the overhang. Three safely up and onto the
summit of our fourth Munro – Sgurr Mhic Choinnich.

A brief stop to pack the ropes, have a bite to eat, a glug
of water and survey the route ahead. We were now well behind
time, so we decided to miss out the direct ascent of An Stac,
which looked enormous. Instead we scrambled up an easier line
on the west side – to the base of the Inaccessible Pinnacle. A
stroke of luck – no queue. A team had just completed the route
and told us they had waited an hour and a half, due to a slow
team ahead. We decided to move together for speed, which gave
Tim the chance to tie his first Alpine Butterfly in anger. It
was a joy to climb on dry rock, and in such a fantastic
position. Within the half hour, we were striding off the summit
of Sgurr Dearg towards Midget Ridge and Sgurr na Banachdich,
Munro number six. This was a significant summit. It was as far
as Tim had reached on a previous attempt. This was also where
the ridge took a turn toward the north-east – making an escape
back to Glen Brittle ever further. It was 3pm and decision
time. We were three hours behind schedule, with an estimated
arrival time on the summit of Sgurr Nan Gillean of Midnight, if
the guide-book was to be believed. I felt quite disheartened at
this point however we made a decision to push on – the weather
was still good, and we had our bivvi gear.

Having made a slight wrong turn on the descent of Sgurr na
Banachdich, we re-gained the correct line over the pleasant top
of Sgurr Thormaid. The south ridge of Sgurr a’ Ghreadaidh
loomed ahead. The scramble up the ridge was very pleasant, as
was the traverse between false and real summits. At the summit
of our seventh Munro we met some very charitable chaps who
donated some vital energy in the form of chocolate and bananas.
Our water was low and Tim had run out of food. We were actually
going very well at this point, and I was perking up. We
scrambled down some tricky terrain to An Dorus then straight on
towards Sgurr a’ Mhadaidh, Munro number eight, followed by its
three tops, which provided the steepest and most technical
scrambling so far. Arriving at the grassy Bealach na Glaic
Moire, we re-assessed our position. 5.30pm and we completed the
last section in guide book time (just). Still on for a midnight
finish. The next section over Bidein Druim nan Ramh was billed
by some as the crux from the route finding and technical
scrambling perspectives. At this point we convinced ourselves
that we only had the resources to make Bruach na Frithe – still
four hours away. The Bhasteir tooth would have to wait for
another day. At least we had the chance to traverse Bidein in
good conditions, which would be valuable if we came back
another time.

Cracking on, and as the summit of Bruach na Frithe
disappeared into cloud, we set about the south summit of
Bidein. Good scrambling and very enjoyable, save for the
awkward descent into the gap between summits. Crossing the rock
that bridged the gap, the ascent to the main summit wasn’t half
as difficult as it had looked, however the descent on the other
side proved a little troublesome. We had been advised to spend
time looking for the correct route here – so we did. Eventually
we descended into the gap below the north peak via an unlikely
looking line – the first bit was quite tricky. The last bit
into the gap looked desperate to tired eyes, so we made a short
abseil. The north peak reared up ahead of us and our hearts
sank. The scree gully down into Coir a Tairneilear looked more
inviting, which is saying something. 7.30pm and we had been on
the move for fourteen hours. If we descend now, we might even
make the pub.

As it turned out the descent was quite challenging – loads
of scree to sap whatever energy we had left, followed by
unexpected cliffs where it had looked like a grassy downhill
jog. We drank from a very refreshing waterfall, which was
heaven after spending so long rationing water to small glugs.
With the main challenges over we had a choice to make. A four
mile walk over the moor to Sligachan, and the car – e.t.a. past
closing time. Or, a mile and a half walk to the Glen Brittle
road and the hope of hitching a lift to the campsite. The
latter sounded like the best bet, and we arrived at the road
just before 10pm. Clare virtually laid down in the road to stop
the first car – going in the wrong direction, and not even to
Sligachan. The second car was going in the right direction,
however it had five up so we didn’t even bother sticking out
our thumbs. Nevertheless, the car screeched to a halt, window
down. It was the sneaky cake eaters, with family. It turned out
they had baled out at the TD gap, but felt they owed us one for
taking their rope up. Without arguing, we spent the four miles
back to the campsite with our feet trailing out of their
hatchback – our rucksacks on their laps. Heaven. Beers at the
tent. Heaven.

So, a failed attempt but a fantastic day out. We’ll try
again one day. A world away but also thoroughly enjoyable was a
pint of Mauldons in Mark Smith’s back garden on the Sunday
afternoon.

By John Penny – September 2003

Last Munro

The Last Munro. Ben Lomond – 25th May 2003

Sunday 25th May 2003 signalled the end to an eleven year journey (Ben
Vorlich in the Arrochar Alps being the first Munro I recorded on 26th
May 1992) to climb all 284 of the Scottish Munros. Initially I had
no real desire or intention to climb all of the Munros but being a
very keen hill-walker and a great lover of Scotland the idea to try to
do them all gradually evolved. My first experiences of Scotland were
20 or more years ago through expedition society trips to Glencoe as a
teacher, but after that I had about ten years when I didn’t visit
north of the border. The trip to the Arrochar Alps in 1992 was in my
half-term break and I was blessed with absolutely superb weather – the
seed was sown.

I have climbed the Munros in all weathers (as anyone who knows
Scotland will realise), sometimes all of them in the same day. Good
memories include sunbathing on Spidean Mialach (Loch Quoich) and a
truly wonderful day on Sgurr na Ciche with stunning views to Knoydart
and Skye. I was also blessed with excellent weather on my second
trip to Skye when I climbed nearly all the Skye Cuillin Munros (I
later went back with a climbing guide to do the Inaccessible Pinnacle
– I have never had pretensions as a rock-climber!). Climbing the west
ridge of Sgurr nan Gillean and standing on the top, picking out and
naming the mountains on the mainland, in perfect visibility will be a
memory that will never fade!

Less good memories include a truly horrible day on Stob Coire
Sgriodain and Chno Dearg when the weather forecasters (not for the
first time) lied. It would clear up later in the day (they said), so
I started late (after midday). Well it did clear up (for about 20
minutes) but nearing the top of the first Munro, the heavens opened
and didn’t stop until I returned to the car. It was a good job
no-one else was around as I performed a very damp striptease in the
car park. Others I have no wish to repeat are Gulvain (steep and
boring – blowing a hoolie on top and I was in the process of going
down with a cold). A’Ghlas-bheinn next to Beinn Fhada in Kintail –
which has more false summits than you can shake a stick at, especially
when there are no views, it’s raining and you are knackered after a
long day. It didn’t help getting the compass bearing off- beam on
the descent either!

Favourite hills – well there so many! The aforementioned Skye
Cuillins and Sgurr na Ciche certainly are right up there, plus the
obvious ones like An Teallach, Liathach and Ben Alligin, but there
were others too. The remote ones in Fisherfield for instance. I
remember a memorable day to reach A’Mhaighdean and Ruadh stac Mor from
Poolewe – a round trip of 25 miles, which took eleven hours. I was
rewarded, however, with perfect solitude and a clear day. From the
top, no sign of human habitation or roads are visible – a special
moment. I was also fortunate with the other four Munros of the
Fisherfield ‘six’. A nine hour walk from north to south from Corrie
Hallie to Kinlochewe, thanks to my brother-in-law Peter, who took me
to the start, having left my car at the southern end on the previous
evening! I saw no one, until the walk out, all day and was blessed
by the clouds staying high until I was descending from the last top.
There are a few remote lochans up there that are magical. Ben More
on Mull is a cracking hill too, with a fine airy ridge. From the top
all the islands are spread out before you, from Jura to Rhum, even
including Staffa of Mendelssohn’s Hebrides Overture fame. I was
fortunate to share the summit with four other people who were there to
scatter the ashes of a relative and to toast him with 25 year old
whisky! The hills of Knoydart are special as well. I was fortunate
to have good views on Ladhar Bheinn, as the clouds obligingly parted
for the length of the time we were on the summit ridge. Luinne
Bheinn and Meall Buidhe were also done in splendid weather (Luinne
Bheinn on the second visit as the first had not been a good day).

Many Munros I have climbed solo and it is a wonderful feeling to have
that space, solitude and silence, so alien to much of modern life.
It has come to mean more and more to me as a means of escape and of
putting everyday cares and work into a much needed perspective.
Nothing seems as bad or as important from a fabulous viewpoint on the
top of a mountain. I would hate people though to think I am totally
anti-social. Over 70 Munros have been climbed with my good friend
Ian and his two dogs Cuillin and Aonach and much ribald and surreal
banter has been heard on the way. One of the most worrying events
also happened with Ian, when, on Ladhar Bheinn the first time I
attempted it, Cuillin fell several hundred feet and Ian had to carry
him off the hill. A truly impressive feat by Ian as Cuillin is a
large Labrador! In the early days I also used to walk with Andy
Bluefield’s North-West Frontiers and it was through them that I
engaged Winky O’Neil to coax me up the Inaccessible Pinnacle and other
Skye Munros. Pete Krug also experienced the JP hill-walking style on a
trip based around Crianlarich. I hope I haven’t put Pete off
Scotland (or me!). We haven’t been able to repeat the trip since!

So to the final Munro – Ben Lomond – a nice straightforward hill that
even my non-regular hill walking friends wouldn’t mind tackling. We
were 16 – Ian, Brian, Morag, Julie, Jenny, Sal, Janet, David, Sundera,
Robin, Celia, Leonie, Christine (my sister), Peter, Sally (my niece)
and me (plus four dogs!). We were lucky with the weather (the
previous day had been littered with heavy storms) and we even had some
good views from the top. What made the day truly memorable, however,
were the two other groups on top. Firstly there was a Scottish lady
completing her Munros with the same hill on the same day as me.
Secondly we witnessed a marriage ceremony take place at the trig
point. The bride didn’t wear white, needless to say, but the priest
took the service in the normal way and we all sang Amazing Grace to
the pipes. Amazingly the groom was from Colchester and other guests
were from Ipswich and Hadleigh! As they say – you couldn’t make it
up!

What has this odyssey taught me? Well I could talk about things like
self-reliance, determination, planning ahead, all of which are
relevant of course, but the thing that keeps coming back is what a
wonderful place Scotland is (even on the grim weather days). How lucky
we are to have it so relatively accessible and how lucky I am to have
been fit enough to do all this. Where and what now, I have been
frequently asked since completing? Well that is not really a problem.
I’d like to go back and re-climb many hills from which I saw nothing
(I’m an expert on the insides of clouds!) and also many hills which I
thoroughly enjoyed. I’d like to visit many of the islands (Harris,
Jura and particularly Rhum) which do not have Munros on them. Hill
walking and mountaineering has never been only about Scotland and
Munros and during the eleven year period I have also visited and
climbed in the Alps, Russia, Romania, Nepal, Ecuador, Bolivia, Morocco
and Corsica. This summer I’m off to Mongolia. As long as there are
hills, I expect I’ll want to walk in and climb them!

By Peter Krug – June 2006

Those of you who read my normal scrawls will read of tales of
derring-do, or not as the case may be, in the wild and remote parts of our
country but for once I will tell a story of escapades in a much more urbane
setting. Actually I meant urban because people tell me that urbane is
something I am not but I only put that in for a cheap joke and please note
that was clean so it probably wasn’t a good joke.

I digress somewhat completely as I don’t do things half-heartedly but I
thought I would share the experience of the London Marathon (and that is a
Full and not a Half Marathon just to carry the dodgy puns further that they
really ought to go) with anyone that would care to read.

Anyway, Sunday 23 April or St George’s Day dawned shockingly early for
some of us as we were due to catch the bus, dubbed the “Magic Marathon Bus”
by one of me, organised by the Felixstowe Road Runners, at 5.45 a.m. and
head off to Blackheath and join 36,000-odd other punters on the festival of
masochism otherwise known as “The (Flora) London Marathon.”

IMCers were well represented on the bus as I enjoyed the company of
Louise and El Sec Mervyn Lamacraft and his breadknife. That Mervyn and I
were competing obviously worried some of the elite athletes like Paul
Tergat and somebody called Paula Ratcliffe (who had shamed herself the
previous year by using the streets of London as a public convenience and
did not even get an ASBO for her troubles) who withdrew from the event.

The trip went uneventfully and we were dumped at Blackheath at about
8.00 a.m. when most normal people were only just starting to think about
consciousness and just as it was starting to precipitate ever so slightly.
Nerves and butterflies were rising now as the enormity of what I was about
to undertake and the atmosphere of the event itself started to take effect.
You could not only smell but also almost taste the air of expectancy as
runners and supporters gathered at the starts and most of us were not
thinking of winning the event but simply surviving it.

Doubts started to creep in (yet again). Will I finish? If so how fast,
or more likely slow, will I be. How are my injuries (I had some hip
problems after my final big training run and had hardly trained since and
this was compounded by possibly cracked ribs attained by falling off my
mountain bike in the Brecon Beacons two weeks previously)? Will I beat the
“Run for Glory” runners? And most importantly will I beat Jade?

After about an hour mincing around on Blackheath doing little except
surreptitiously smuggling out some warm refreshments from the “athletes
enclosure” for our supporters before the race was due to begin. At “T-minus
25 minutes” or 9.20 a.m. it was time say goodbye to our entourage and make
final arrangements – change, deposit our stuff on the baggage lorries,
loosen up and make a final call of nature (I made for the urinals as the
announcer advised that the queues “were flowing freely” (and they were)) –
before heading for the start line.

It was now that my careful race tactics and planning started to go
awry, or to ratshit, as I prefer to put it. I was concerned about
route-finding (and I suppose Mervyn was too) and then I thought “that won’t
be a problem as all I would need to do would be to follow the lead car” who
I assumed would know the way. However, somewhat mysteriously I was herded
toward starting pen number six which was miles away from the start.

The start was “well and truly nigh” and suddenly we started edging
forward. I never heard the starting gun. We broke into a trot and I could
see a truly awe-inspiring sight of thousands upon thousands of bobbing
heads ahead of me. I crossed the starting line, started my stopwatch and
was immediately stopped in my tracks as everybody in front of me slowed
down due to some kind of blockage ahead of us.

Within about two hundred metres of the start were the first of a lot of
toilets along the marathon route but even more impressive was the number of
people heading towards the walls and fences on the other side of the road
choosing to save a few vital seconds by watering the walls and fences of
London. Why should a call of nature prevent a potential PB? After all there
was still another 26 miles 185 metres to go and every seconds counts!

I was taking care to avoid all the porta-loos having been warned by my
physio who had heard of a competitor being pole-axed after about 5 miles
when he ran into a door that had been opened by an exiting competitor! The
lengths that some people go to in order to prevent being overtaken! In
spite of this some things just can’t be avoided as the pre-race hydration
started making itself felt in my bladder and, just before the two mile
marker, off I toddled to a free segment of wall or fence (the details are
somewhat unclear) to relieve the pressure.

Meanwhile in the race itself the pace was hotting up after an
incredibly slow eleven minute first mile and by mile three I was steaming
away on 9-minute mile pace! I might add that the steam was not caused by
the pace of the race but rather frustration at the lack of pace. There were
just too many people so you just had to grin and bear it and enjoy the
occasion and hope things might open up a bit later on in the race.

There was some banter when the competitors of the Red and Blue starts
converged after about three miles. There were a lot of fancy dressers – I
passed a rhino at the start (testament to my fearsome pace) and fairies
(men and women dressed as such rather than any effeminate gentlemen) were
two a’ penny – there were a few uggy-uggy-uggies……………. But most of all I
remember the crowds. They were phenomenal in their support and appreciation
of the endeavours of the runners. It was apparent that many had an early
start in the pubs and as a consequence they cheered all the more heartily
and the noise was incredible no more so than in “The Docklands” where the
pavements were lined five or six people deep. It was similarly noisy in the
Mall.

I am no fan of big cities and wasn’t paying too much attention to all
the “sights” but I do remember passing the Cutty Sark after six miles and
the most memorable sight for me was turning around a corner and seeing
Tower Bridge in front of me with the spectacular sight of thousands of
runners stretched before me. The view was somewhat marred by seeing the HQ
of my former employers in the background but let’s not get bitter and
twisted Pete!

And how was the race going for me? Not too well but I was trying to
enjoy the occasion. I have whinged about the pace, which is my excuse
(together with high sugars), as I was not running at my natural pace. The
injuries seemed ok. I remember that having studiously ignored the advice to
try drinking that lucozade sports stuff during training runs I then tried
it after ten miles on the real thing and as a consequence, after about
thirteen miles, got mild stomach cramps. Things deteriorated after about
sixteen miles when the cramps moved downwards into my calves. After about
twenty-two miles things went into a bit of a decline because I was
completely chin-strapped!

After twenty-three and a half miles I stopped running and joined the
multitudes that were walking – at least I wasn’t throwing up so things
weren’t all bad. I was looking for inspiration and suddenly there she was
…………… she passed me and then I could see the magical words of inspiration
that I was seeking. There, emblazoned across her back ……… Norwich Road
Runners. No way was I going to let someone from Budgie City beat me so I
broke into a stagger and then raised my pace to a trot and finally surged
to nearly running pace and I was now on the Embankment.

I reached the Houses of Parliament and as we turned into Birdcage Walk
there was less than a mile of torment left. My spirits were lifting as I
knew that I was going to finish; indeed I was starting to overtake people,
and the crowds cranked up the volume another notch. I waved to Her Majesty
who I believe was celebrating one of her birthdays. I turned the final
corner, and there before me was the sight I had been dreaming of during all
those months of training and the countless miles of pounding the streets:
THE FINISH LINE!!!!

As I closed in on the finish I mistimed my “arms in the air
celebration” and as David Coleman would say went too soon. I was so tired I
could not keep my arms up. I could hear the announcer muttering something
about Matthew Pinsent just entering the finishing straight and I didn’t
want to let that lardy so-and-so beat me and this would mean I would beat
an Olympian! And then it was all over – the job as Mike Hams would say was
a “good’un!” I could now be proud and happy. I had finished and it was now
a case of getting the formalities over and picking up my baggage and
finding my entourage. I found that my legs were so stiff and I couldn’t get
down – I mean sit down.

Fun and games ensued to the bitter end as we Felixstowe Road Runners
(and accomplices blagging a lift to London) fought off various errant
Jaffa’s who invaded our coach in the mistaken belief that our coach was
going to Ipswich of all places! Actually we left the fighting to the driver
as we were too shagged to care.

Just for the record, I completed the race in four hours three minutes
and twenty-two seconds finishing in 12,469th place! My achievement was
nothing compared to Mervyn’s who finished in a good time, raised over three
thousand pounds for charity and made a TV appearance by being seen
staggering in the background as Sally Gunnell was interviewing JJ Luck from
the “Run for Glory” team. And yes, I did beat Jade! And yes, I would do it
again! Now where are those training shoes………………?

Peter Krug – April 2003

Did that get you going? I couldn’t think of anything else so I got all biblical with an oblique reference to the first book of the Bible and NOT a prog-band of the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s!

Anyway let’s get back to the point of the article, which is after all an article on winter mountaineering in North Wales! Friday evening saw the usual IMC dash along Britain’s highways to some mountainous spot to blow out the cobwebs of yet another week’s grind at work! This week it was North Wales and the venue was the bunkhouse at Gwern Gof Uchaf although one hardy soul preferred the camping option!

I woke up early on Saturday morning and opened the flap (of the tent!) to a beautiful crisp winter morning (have you guessed who the camper was yet?). As I cooked me porridge in me vestibule I took in the magnificent mountain vistas all around me. The campsite was surrounded by the rugged mountains of the Glyders and the Carnedds and completely dominated by Tryfan. It is indeed a fine location and is only missing one important facility – a pub!

We split up into various groups each doing their own thing and ours (myself, Mervyn, Mike, Christina and Ian) was planned to be a scramble up Tryfan, down the other side then a scramble up Bristly Ridge to Glyder Fach and then on to Glyder Fawr and a descent down
to Llyn Ogwen via the Devil’s Kitchen although it did not work out that way.

Off we set just after 9.00 am and the first job was to find the route up Tryfan itself which took some finding as we were not approaching the mountain from the usual place. In fact, it proved
to be a bit of a scramble to find the scramble itself although we eventually succeeded thanks to Mike’s navigation skills! Then it was onwards and upwards picking whatever line you preferred as you made your way up to the summit’.. what fun. There were a lot of laughs to be had on the way and who could forget Christina’s immortal comment “It’s a good thing I’m loose” in front of the entire IMC tone lowerers group (we were wetting ourselves!).

Having got to the summit Mervyn soon clambered onto Adam (or was it Eve?) and did the leap and then leapt back in the prescribed manner and duly got the freedom of the mountain. We had lunch whilst I plucked up the courage to follow in Mervyn’s footsteps and had my moment of glory before loping off down the other side of Tryfan into the Bwlch Tryfan.

Before us lay the intimidating buttress of Bristly Ridge. Mervyn assured us that it was no worse than what we had already done. Naturally I threatened him with the promise to throw him off if he was lying! Fortunately, Mervyn was right although there were some interesting moments especially the ones where one had to descend the ridge! However, within an hour we were gallivanting along the top of Glyder Fach and posing for photographs on the “Cantilever.”

However, it was getting a bit late in the day now so we decided to curtail our expedition by descending Y Gribin to Llyn Bochlwyd and then around the base of Tryfan to the bunkhouse. This sounded easy on paper but ignores the fact a combination of Mervyn and
Christina attempted to assassinate the President of the IMC (if you want the job you can have it!) by kicking a big boulder down the path only for it to be parried by a quick-thinking Mike “Nigel Martin” Hams.

Having gotten back to the campsite it was time to cook dinner before rejoining the others in the bunkhouse to catch up on the days events although two of our company (Jeff and Nigel) were
still on the hill and did not arrive until about 9.00 p.m. having tramped all over North Wales!

It was not particularly late when I wandered off to my cosy little tent due to the effects of a good day on the hill and a few beers. Woke up early the next day to have breakfast and pack my gear
thinking that the others would actually wake up early but they overslept. Nonetheless the same party of five gathered together and today’s destination was Pen-y-Pass and the Snowdon Horseshoe.

Owing to the slightly late start in the day (10.00 a.m.) and the fact that we were supposed to meet up in Capel Curig between 3.00 and 4.00 p.m. we were belting up the Pyg Track and made it to the base of the scramble up to Crib Goch in no time at all. It was at this point that Mike decided that his knee after the exertions of the previous day was not up to more scrambling so he returned to the Pyg Track and climbed Snowdon this way. The scramble up to Crib Goch was fine but the scramble along the ridge itself I found quite scary but it was not too bad. I was more than aware of the drops on either side! However, when I learnt of the defeat of the Welsh Rugby team at the hands of the Italian team jumping off the side of Crib Goch suddenly had its attractions!

Having gotten the ridge over with we scrambled up Garnedd Ugain and then joined the hordes heading for the summit of Snowdon. We looked down from the col to the Pyg Track that was a sheet of ice, which people were negotiating extremely gingerly! We soon reached an extremely crowded summit and found Mike waiting there for us.

After a quick conference we decided to get away from the summit before having lunch and we persuaded Mike to join us. So we went down the steep and awkward path down the back of Snowdon heading for Y Lliwedd before finding a nice spot for lunch. Soon we were off on the final leg of the Snowdon Horseshoe, which was the uneventful ascent of Y Lliwedd, and then naturally the descent to the miners track and a sprint down the Miners’ Track back to Pen-y-Pass. What a great way to end a great weekend!

North Wales, February 14th to 16th

By Mike Hams – February 2003

Another rapid and remarkably traffic-free trip along the M6 on
Friday saw us in North Wales in 5 hours and looking for the
bunkhouse under Tryfan. The first farmyard we turned up in wasn’t
it but the name was remarkably similar (apologies to the Welsh
amongst us). The second farmyard had Rupert’s car in it and we
noticed there was still some snow about on the upper slopes of the
surrounding mountains.

The bunkhouse was clean, tidy, warm and well equipped; I didn’t
really need to pack the wok. This year’s bargain (so far) at £6 a
night. We had a quick drink and settled down for the night.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, which was unfortunate
for those who wanted to ice climb. They had to search quite hard
on the North-facing slopes to find anything remotely climbable.
Those of us who were walking looked forward to clear views from
the mountaintops. We packed ice axes and crampons just in case
they were needed and set off up Tryfan but a short walk away.

A great deal of first class dithering was required to find the
start of the scramble, mainly by those holding a map, then it was
up and away. After a good mornings work we arrived at the summit
and both the secretary and president of the club did the
obligatory leap from Adam to Eve and back again, ensuring they had
“droite de seigneur” with any and all passing sheep! We had a
short break for lunch at the summit and set off again when the
smaller members of the party complained of being cold.

The afternoon was taken up with the scramble off Tryfan to Bristli
ridge (can’t find the correct spelling on the map) and the ascent
of the Glyders (Fawr and Fach). Some interesting positions and
moves were required on the way up, notably the standing aside for
a chap with his two collies going up past us! One of the dogs did
not appear too keen and had to be coaxed into every difficult
move, I knew exactly how it felt! We stopped for a photo or two on
the cantilevered boulder on top of the Glyders and decided that
there was not time before the light went to get to and through the
Devils kitchen area (some mention of carrot eating and seeing in
the dark). We made our way down Y Cribin and returned around
Tryfan to the bunkhouse. A very good 8-hour day out.

We settled down to dinner and a drink or two and swapped tales of
the day. Those who wanted them had hot showers in the washhouse
and sweaty clothing was hung in the drying room to make them
usable the next day. Jeff and Nigel arrived back just before we
considered alerting mountain rescue. Apparently they had wanted to
be out after dark to make the most of night navigation (I hope I
remember that aright chaps). Plans for the next day were made to
take account of the great weather.

On Sunday our party set of for Pen Y Pass for an attempt on the
Snowdon Horseshoe starting at Crib Goch. On the hike into the
hills my knee let me know it was not happy with life, and could we
take it easier today please. At the foot of the scramble I waved
goodbye to my companions and set off for the Pyg Track. I was to
meet the others on Snowdon and complete the last half of the
horseshoe with them. We had discarded ice axes, as they were an
unnecessary burden the previous day most of us had left the
crampons behind also to reduce weight in the packs.

It was another very sunny day and half way up the track I removed
my jacket and completed the climb in base layer and Paramo
trousers (all vents open and struggling manfully to keep me cool).
I tagged on with a chap from Liverpool who was good company on the
climb. We eventually parted company on the top section of the
track when we had to stop for people coming down and I got caught
up on the hard snow without my crampons. It’s not often just a
base layer can be worn as a top when using crampons. The snow was
about 10 inches deep and very hard packed across two thirds of the
track width.

On the top of the hill and out of the valley shelter I had to put
my jacket on sharpish, as it was very chilly. There were the usual
day-trippers in unsuitable clothing on top of the mountain and in
summertime I guess it must be very, very busy. I had some lunch
and waited for the rest of the intrepid party to arrive, which
they did after 25 minutes or so. We moved off the mountain summit
to find somewhere quieter for the others to eat, descending a very
nasty scree slope to a quiet grassy hollow for a congenial lunch.

The President of the club did his best at this point to frighten
all the local wildlife and not a few walkers with an extraordinary
belch. Birds crossed the sky in terror and the gentleman walking
around us staggered off pale-faced and trembling. The rest of us
hoped the earth would open and hide us now (not, well maybe
Christina as she is a delicate thing really). We’ll go back later
to apologise if asked.

The slog around the last part of the horseshoe went well and we
arrived back in the car park shortly after 4pm. It was time for a
quick change and off to the Pinnacle cafe at Capel Curig for a
well earned bacon roll and a cuppa. Here we learned that Steve
Culverhouse had nearly come a cropper on easy ground above a
1000-foot slide at Idwal Slabs. Rupert had managed to arrest the
slide before it got out of hand and avoided burying any part of
the ice axes he was holding in Steve. The only bad part of the
return trip was the discovery that the good chip shop in
Llangollen had closed and we had Chinese instead in Oswestry.

More pictures can be found at Tryfan Scramble (password Climb8)

By Peter Krug – December 2002

Where does one start? Another trip to Nepal (my third) and
another adventure of a lifetime! In previous years I have trekked
into Annapurna Sanctuary and the Everest region both of which
proved to be very beautiful but were incredibly busy and I
fancied going somewhere quieter and I wanted to bag a peak if at
all possible.

In the end I chose to trek in the Rolwaling Valley which lies
just west of the Solu-Khumbu region (i.e. Everest National Park)
and the trip I chose offered the opportunity to bag two trekking
peaks – Ramdang and Parchemo. As this area could only be
accessed on a mountaineering permit we did not expect to meet too
many other trekking groups.

Having landed in Kathmandu and met the rest of our group,
which totalled seven plus our western trek leader and spent a day
sightseeing we were driven to the small town of Biriabesi where
we meet up with our crew. As we arrived the loads were being
shared out amongst the porters (some thirty or so). In addition
to the porters we had a sirdar, two or three climbing sherpas and
the cook crew. Our sirdar, Kunga had climbed Everest, Cho Oyu and
Annapurna and one of the climbing sherpas had climbed Lhotse. Our
cook had cooked for Chris Bonnington so we were in illustrious
company!

The first few days of the trek were generally fairly
easy-going as we walked the paths through the terraced fields of
the middle Himalaya. It was very pleasant passing through the
many villages such as Delangse, Bigu, Chilanka, Bulung, Jagat,
Simigaon, Douan and Beding. The terraced fields were very
impressive in their extent and the pictures that I took do not
reflect the steepness of the slopes being farmed. The crops were
mainly rice and millet. Wherever we were in between villages we
were encompassed by fairly thick-forested jungle, which provided
some relief from the heat of the day.

The villages were initially Buddhist as we approached the
Rolwaling area, then there was an area that was mainly Hindu and
then as we reached the upper Rolwaling valley we were back into
Buddhist territory.

On top of that we were treated to waterfalls, water powered
grain milling, wild monkeys, a new-born goat (like one minute
old), school visits, visited Bigu Gompa and a Nepalese “cultural
evening” when we were entertaining by the villagers doing their
traditional dances which we joined in and we reciprocated (if
that is the correct word!) by doing the “Okey Cokey.” We had to
climb the Tinsang La, which was 3,319 metres high but provided us
our first views of the Rolwaling area and a stunning first
sighting of Gauri Shankar.

One interesting event which reflects on the current political
situation Nepal (decidedly dodgy) was the fact that we were
“taxed” by Maoists but they did give us a receipt! As we were
walking we were stopped by a couple of guys wearing army fatigues
but fortunately not armed. Our sirdar and leader told us to keep
on going whilst they negotiated. In the end we were taxed some
500 rupees per head. Incidentally, the receipt did help because
we were later stopped at another Maoist checkpoint and they let
us through without further charge once we waved our receipt.

However, all this provided the build up to the main event, which
were the bagging of some peaks and more importantly the crossing
of the Tesi Lapcha (5,750 m). It was the latter which was
effectively the crux of the trip because we had to get over this
pass into Solu-Khumbu otherwise we would have had to return from
whence we came. The peaks were optional.

By the time we reached Na some eight days into the trek we
were at over 4,000 metres and left the fields and forest of the
lower regions behind and the vegetation, which was scrubland. We
had also left the warmth behind and the nights were now decidedly
chilly!

We had a rest day in Na and the whole party took the
opportunity to visit the Tsho Rolpa, which provided a good
opportunity to acclimatise. This was a lake near the head of the
Rolwaling Valley, which was held back by moraine and is being
continuously monitored. The fear is that it would break through
this natural dam and wipe out the entire valley. Once again the
views were stupendous as we surrounded by Himalayan giants such
as Melungste, Tsoboje and Chukyima Go whilst before us lay our
route toward the Tesi Lapcha.

However, before all that we had an appointment with Ramdang
Peak and the next day we left Na, hung a right turn and climbed
up into a hanging valley where our base camp was situated. We had
another “rest-day” and again and naturally we were given another
opportunity to errr ‘acclimatise’ by doing exactly
the opposite! The “opportunity” was to climb the Yalung Ri, which
at 5,650 metres was going to provide a bit of a challenge.

It actually was not that bad. We left camp, walked up a ridge
to the foot of a glacier then donned plastic boots and crampons.
Then we roped up and off we went moving steadily up the glacier
weaving around a couple of crevasses. The final section to the
summit ridge was very steep and strenuous but the views from the
top, which included a sighting of Cho Oyu, were magnificent. We
were stopped about 40 metres short of the summit as the final
section involved rock-climbing in plastic boots which was not on
the agenda but all in all a good morning’s work!

The next day we moved up to high camp, which situated in a
stunning position on a glacier for our attempt on Ramdang Peak.
We had an unbelievably cold night (minus 30 Celsius) and set off
at about 6.00 a.m. and within an hour of setting off two of the
group had given leaving just three of us clients (two others had
decided not to go for the peak and were at base camp) to carry
the flag. The initial climb up from camp was pretty steep and
then we reached a plateau. However, we still had to climb a wall
of ice about 30 metres high, which had been fixed by the guides
the previous day, which involved jumaring.

Once we had reached the top of this ridge we were onto a col,
which was at about 5,750 metres, and we could see the snow-capped
dome, which was the summit of Ramdang about three kilometres
away. Now we had a two and a half hour trudge over the glacier,
which was energy sapping before we reached the top to much joy!

The rewards that were provided by our endeavours were incredible
mountain vistas and we could see Everest to the east and the
Annapurna massif to the west and countless other mountains. Then
there was the long march back to base camp which proved to be
exceedingly arduous.

The next couple of days were spent moving back down from
Ramdang, then up the valley, past the Tsho Rolpa and then weaving
in and out of the moraine of the Trakarding Glacier until we were
camped at the bottom of the Drolumbau Glacier. It is safe to say
that this was not the most pleasant campsite that I have stayed
at in view of the fact we were sleeping on mounds of rock! On our
walk-in we had to cope with fairly heavy snow, which prompted,
fortunately unfounded, worries about our attempt on the Tesi
Lapcha and sadly we passed a body right next to the path.

The next day was our big day as we were due to climb the Tesi
Lapcha and it proved to be quite a worrying day. Even from the
start I noticed that the group was struggling and this fact was
not unnoticed by our porters. It seemed to be a combination of
tiredness in some cases and a lack of acclimatisation in others.
Our route involved a scramble up a rocky gully, which for us
western tourists was “fixed” (but not for our nimble porters with
their 35-40 kilogram loads). Then next for a few hours we were on
mixed ground (sometimes rocky moraine and sometimes snow and ice)
as we progressed exceedingly slowly up the Drolumbau Glacier
passing below Parchemo until we reached the foot of the Tesi
Lapcha.

Incidentally, the group had decided not to climb Parchemo
because we felt that after the previous couple of days getting to
and over the Tesi Lapcha we would not have the energy left to
take this on.

After a short break we set off up the snow and then some rocky
ground until we reached another glacier. It was now mid-afternoon
and there was no sight of the top of the col. Our guides were
worried I could see it (probably because I was the only one that
was on top form) and I was trying to will the others to get a
move on. We weren’t roped up so in the end I just decided
to go for it and see if my pace would elicit some response from
my fellow trekkers. I use the term “pace” somewhat loosely
because I was not exactly sprinting up the mountain!

View from the Tesi Lapcha

Anyway after several false summits I reached the top at 3.57
p.m just as the sun started to disappear behind the flanks of
Parchemo and as it did the temperature plummeted. I had plenty of
time to take in the views and to take some photographs whilst the
rest of the party started to arrive. Then in the gathering gloom
we dashed down the other side to our campsite a few hundred
meters below for yet another cold night.

Fortunately, now we could relax as we now made our way down
the Thame valley and towards warmth and sucked in the oxygen rich
air. We had had over a week of nighttime temperatures of well
below minus 15 Celsius and this had taken its toll on all of us.
Having spent the previous fortnight trekking in remote areas we
found ourselves in much more crowded surroundings and we met
loads of people both trekkers and locals as we approached first
Namche Bazaar and then Lukla which made me realise why I chose
the Rolwaling in the first instance! Mind you in spite of the
number of people the area is still very beautiful as we now in
the area, which included magnificent mountains such as Ama
Dablam, Thamserku and Kusum Kangguru.

In no time at all we were back to the relative comforts of
Kathmandu (a bath and a shave) and then it was time to go home
and to reflect on the events of the past month and also admire
the qualities of the magnificent sherpa people we had passed the
time with. The physical strength, fortitude and cheerfulness of
these people never fails to amaze me. Thanks guys!