The Slant or “Pulled Off By El Pres”

More tales of derring-do on gnarly Scottish Grade Is from the IMC winter assault team

And he’s off! With axes uselessly dangling from my wrists I’m off down a
50°-snow slope with a hundred feet drop off the end. Oh dear. Two voices in my
head: one screaming “Keep your bloody crampons up!”, one calm: “I wonder what’s
gonna happen here then…”

It’s great to be back out on the hills. The feeling, snow laden wind
blasting the cobwebs away, and the combination of “winter” packs and a good
paced 2 hour stomp up the snow into Coire ant’Sneachda gets the blood pumping.
And the vista in the corrie – semi-surrounded by ice and snow-cloaked black,
black rock, the cliffs towering over us 100 metres or so, coming into view in
patches as the clouds are pushed and shoved about by an angry gusting wind. They
look dark, brooding, menacing and intimidating and I can’t wait to get on them.

There was no shortage of snow this time (in fact, there was a level three
avalanche warning) and below several of the gullies a large fan of avalanche
debris was evident. Best we stay out of the gullies, then…

After a luxurious brunch in the shelter of the IMC bothy we decided on “The
Slant” – a rising face traverse, hopefully free of avalanche danger. As it was
flippin’ freezing and blowing a hoolie we agreed that moving together, alpine
style, would be quicker (hence warmer) than pitching the route in two parties. I
mean, it’s only a grade one climb. How hard can that be? And what could possibly
go wrong? Read on, dear reader, read on….

Stomping up the start of Jacob’s ladder I was already starting to warm up
and after about 20 metres I found the start of the “slant” heading off to the
left. A little grunt and pull had me scrambling upwards on straight forward
moves but I would have been a bit happier with some more gear placements as
without belays we needed to keep at least one piece of gear between each person
at all times. Scraping the ice out of a crack revealed a good nut placement and
a couple of gentle doinks from my hammer made sure. Move along to another group
of rocks, clear the snow off, no cracks. Damn! But it feels like turf. Swing my
pick in and yup, that feels frozen. This could be a warthog moment. Bash the
hell out of the warthog and get it in about 2/3 of its length. Is that enough?
Never having placed one before I don’t know! Tie a sling off as low as possible
to cut down on leverage (I do remember that bit from the theory books) and then
head across a very dubious snow ledge that I don’t trust at all. Kicking my
points through loose snow into the frozen stuff beneath I have to grin to
myself: I’m on a ledge that I don’t trust, protected by gear that I don’t trust,
but hey, I’m having a good time! What really makes me grin though is the nice
big spiky boulder that appears out of the gloom and that I can get a big ol’
bomber sling round. That’s made me a happy soul. An awkward traverse under and
round the boulder, with hands needed to grab the rock and place the picks, led
to a small, steep snow slope. Instead of continuing to traverse I climb up this
in the hope of finding some kind of gear placement. The now familiar sweep, chip
and scrape routine yields a fine crack. Kick both feet into solid footholds,
balance, let the axes hang from their leashes while I struggle a nut off my
harness. Is that a No. 6 or 7 crack? Huh? Rope’s tight, he’s under starters
orders and he’s off! With axes uselessly dangling from my wrists I’m off down a
50°-snow slope with a hundred feet drop off the end. Oh dear. Two voices in my
head: one screaming “Keep your bloody crampons up!”, one calm: “I wonder what’s
gonna happen here then…”

I fall/slide until the rope goes tight again, kick those front points right
in, swing the picks in as far as they’ll go. Safe. But something’s still not
quite right… Oh yeah, breathe, of course. That’s better.

Gingerly move up a step to take some pressure off my, ah, harness and shout
to Pete to make sure he’s ok. I haven’t a clue what’s happened. Obviously Pete’s
off but what about the others? Are we all dangling off the mountain? I can’t see
Pete (I haven’t seen or heard him or the others since leaving the gully), so I
yell to find out if he’s ok. That’s a waste of time ‘cos the wind just whips the
sound away.

I cautiously climb back up to the big boulder with the sling round it, climb
up on top and sit astride it. Yell into the murk again: “Pete! Are you ok?”
“Ah, Johnboy, could you take some of this slack in, please?”

Oh shit! Pete’s probably hanging off his points and picks and as I climbed
up I’ve given him a heap of slack. Bad form there, Buchan!

For speed I pull the slack in with a shoulder belay (and not at all ‘cos I
was scared of being pulled off my airy perch and wanted the most dynamic belay
going). Pete climbed back up, stuffed in a cam, a hex, three nuts and a sling to
back up the nut I’d placed earlier and we belayed each other back into the gully
and safely (if you ignore the avalanche risk) off Jacob’s ladder.

After a quick regroup, we decided that perhaps alpine style was not the way
ahead for the slant. But Jacob’s ladder should go ok, I mean, Phil and I soloed
it last year without (much) drama. What could possibly go wrong, etc.? And as we
were, oh, a good fifth the way up, (only another 80 something metres to go…)
it seemed pointless to retreat and have a nice, safe exit from the corrie.

The climbing was straightforward snow plodding but steep and loose enough to
make it quite entertaining. Add in the exposure and strong, gusting wind and it
was very interesting at times.

Now some readers, sitting in the comfort of their sitting rooms, may wonder
about the wisdom of climbing a 100-metre climb, effectively in one pitch with a
stripped-down (i.e. minimal) gear rack. “Surely, you’ll run out of gear?” you
ask. And you’d be right – almost.

About 25 feet from the top or about 300 feet up you will have one hex left.
You know the funny-sized one, the one never fits anything? That’s the one!

Directly above me, where last year was the fearsome cornice that pushed Phil
and me into a wicked ice and rock scramble, was this year a big, fat, sexy ice
bulge. Time for a no nonsense proper belay, I feel.

Luckily Pete had a selection of gear that he expertly stuffed into a
convenient crack, put me on belay, and I was away.

For a novice ice climber such as myself hanging off 20mm of pick and front
point with 300 feet drop below is pretty gripping stuff. Absolutely cracking! I
looked down and saw the snow and ice that I’d dislodged being blown up and past
me onto the plateau. Topping out, I felt the full force of the wind and cold so
immediately started hunting for something to tie into. Zilch! Think of a snowy
version of Millstone without the fence posts. So I bashed my axe right the way
into the snow, clip a Munter hitch into a crab on the head of the axe and stand
on the axe head for good measure. Hopefully that should do it. Pete predictably
made short work of the ice bulge, took over the stance and started bringing
Louise up. About then it occurred to me that the ice bulge was part of a cornice
that at that moment had one person hanging off it and two more standing on top.
Not an ideal situation, but much improved, at least for me, if I made myself
safe. So, moving away from the edge a few metres, I scooped out a sort of bucket
seat and, repeating the Munter hitch/ shoulder belay affair, Louise and then
Mike quickly gained the top. As the weather had deteriorated to absolutely
bloody horrid and very, very cold, we didn’t hang around long but followed
Louise’s spot-on navigation to the Fiacaill á Choire Chais ridge and then down
the ridge past the ski lifts and back to the car.

One of the useful techniques that Louise uses in navigation is the “keeping
the map and compass well away from Johnboy at all costs” technique. This
employed leads to fast, straightforward, trouble-free route finding, albeit
without any of my “interesting” detours.

I’d like to thank my partners-in-climb for a top-weekend: Louise for getting
us all safely off the plateau in a white out, Mike for lugging the rack all the
way in and out of the climb and of course El Pres for pulling me off when I
least expected it. It’s a man thing…