The Mourne Wall

The last wee while I have for some reason gotten quite into running, with vague intentions of doing the Belfast Marathon and some silly long runs in the Mournes.
On St Stephen's Day I ran the BARF Turkey Trot, a short-ish 9 km run up Trassey Track to Pollaphuca, round Slieve Meelmore and down the Mourne Way back to Trassey track, in a bit of a blizzard. I wasn't particularly fast, and it didn't help that my somewhat inappropriate trail running trainers gave no grip on snow then proceeded to fall apart near the end, but it was great fun.

Several days later, armed with better shoes and a favourable forecast I went out for a lap of the Annalong Valley with Alek, starting from Carrick Little and taking in Cove, Beg and Donard. Alek injured his ankle on the Bog of Donard but we still managed the whole thing quite quickly. Movign fast in the hills is fun.

With Alek on Cove Mountain

The Mournes are a compact range, with an unusual feature circumnavigating some of the highest peaks - the Mourne Wall. This tremendous navigation aid was built in the early 1900s to demarcate the catchment area for Belfast's water supply. 35 km in length and composed entirely of dry stone wall, this superb folly crosses the summits of all of the Mournes' highest peaks, except Lamagan. Naturally, it makes for a perfect and challenging circuit.

The Mourne Wall route. Accepted practice is to avoid the horrible river crossing between Long Seefin and Carrick Little by going to the Head Rd, as well as crossing Silent Valley dam rather than following the edge of the waterworks.

I never really went outside much until I was 15, when i got dragged up Donard by a few friends from school. Considering ourselves instant experts on the Mournes, we decided to attempt the Mourne Wall on the subsequent occasion. Wearing jeans, a cotton t-shirt and carrying enough kit to keep a small family going for a week, we set out on the warmest day of July 2007 from Newcastle, getting as far as Hare's Gap before being put off by sweat and the steepness of Bearnagh. We camped at Ben Crom, got eaten alive by midges and walked back along the road to Silent Valley, giving up.
Over the next year or so we made several further 2-day attempts, each a bit less stupid and a bit more successful than the previous, but never actually completed the circuit in one go.

Several glorious attempts, all failed.

Last week, the idea came to me to try it again, but in one day, as fast as possible. Once I have an idea like that it kind of grows and grows and then I have to go do the thing, I don't really get a choice in the matter - even if it meant trying it on the coldest weekend of the Winter, which apparently last weekend was.
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On Saturday 17 Jan, Owen Largey, Stephen Armstrong and myself set off from Carrick Little car park, up the track towards Binnian. The plan was a clockwise circuit, getting the worst of the ascent out of the way at the start, and avoiding the horrific crossing of the Annalong river at the end (which I'd struggled across in 2007 and had no intentions of ever doing again).

Setting off up the Carrick Little track, and Owen just before we bailed

It was cold but clear, with quite a lot of snow on the hills. However, on the ascent of Binnian Stephen developed back pain and although he was keen to push on, it was decided that the most sensible thing to do was to abort and return to the car.

There are, of course, two days in a weekend, and the forecast for Sunday was similar. Owen wasn't free on Sunday, and I didn't really want to try it again on my own, so I texted Adrian Curran, who's normally up for silly long runs and the like.

I picked him up on Sunday morning and he informed me that he had had 3 hours sleep after doing a VJ set in El Divino the night before while eating a pot noodle in the car. "It seems wrong not to be a bit hungover when going out in the hills anyway". Fair enough...

My little rear-drive couldn't make it up the icy hills on the Head Road so we parked at Dunnywater (which we'd have to come through anyway) and got the road running bit out of the way at the start. This would have been grim at the end anyway.

Ice skating on the Head Road

Off we went up Binnian, passing Saturday's highpoint quite rapidly. Before long we were breaking trail in sometimes deep snow (amusing in trainers) and strong winds but were making good pace. Descending the steep reservoir side of Binnian was slow going in the snow but 1hr 50 mins in we arrived at Silent Valley and were going strong.

Binnian

We knew the next section to the top of Muck would probably be the most difficult and weren't disappointed. The bog from the dam up to Slievenaglogh was as sodden as always. I was glad of my decision to pack spare socks but held off on their use until such a point as I started to lose feeling in my toes (thankfully this never happened).
Adrian was going strong while I struggled up Slievenaglogh, realising that I hadn't really brought enough food. One energy gel later I was a new man and only 3 hours in we were starting up Slieve Muck, the most appropriately named peak in the Mournes and the halfway point. Muck is steep and mucky, and the Banns Road side doesn't see much traffic (for good reason). The snow became quite deep and we were breaking trail, sometimes as much as knee deep. All quite demoralising.

Adrian on Slievenaglogh

At this point, Adrian had been moving longer than he had slept and started to flag. Some proplus and a sandwich kept him going. Caffeine is the business.

Muck

Once over the top of Muck things sped up. We were now back on well travelled ground, and the snow was nicely ploughed by plenty of footsteps. Deep snow slowed the uphill but made downhill fast and easy (and spared my knees).

Meelbeg and Meelmore

Adrian started getting bad cramp but an energy gel sorted that out (magic stuff those gels). Quick progress meant that only 2 hours passed from the top of Muck to Pollaphuca (col between Meelbeg and Meelmore). A short slog up Bearnagh saw us at the summit by 5.5hrs in. Here we met what seemed to be halfof QUBMC out walking and were gratefully refuelled by Owen and Aimee. I've never come down Bearnagh so fast. The Hare's Gap side is quite steep but the snow made for very rapid progress. It was no more than 5 minutes from the summit to the top of the steps at Hare's Gap. Only 4 more peaks to go.

Bearnagh

The last couple of peaks from Bearnagh. Slievenaglogh, Slieve Corragh, Slieve Commedagh, Slieve Donard

With about 25km and 2200m of ascent done so far, Adrian was suffering quite badly on the uphills at this point and had resorted to adding a cold & flu rehydration sachet to his water bladder in an attempt to get more energy. We made slow progress across Slievenaglogh (different mountain, same name) and Slieve Corragh and up the steep ascent of Commedagh, leaving only Donard and its bog. However, Adrian looked absolutely shattered and although stubborn it wouldn't've been wise for him to carry on over Donard. Thankfully, it was possible for him to follow the Brandy Pad track from the Commedagh-Donard col to the stile on the Bog of Donard while I carried on over the last summit.
I learned it is not a wise idea to eat a sandwich while trying to ascend Donard at a brisk pace, as chewing was enough to get me quite out of breath! I had the summit to myself and enjoyed the view of the sunset over the Wintry Mournes before legging it down the far side, meeting a much-rejuvenated Adrian at the stile.

View SW from Donard

Donard shelter

Normally, the Bog of Donard is a nasty, soggy, ankle ambushing morass which slows progress significantly, but on this occasion it was slightly frozen, allowing quick progress. As the light dimmed we covered the 5km back to Dunnywater in good time, arriving, shattered, back at the car in a total time of 8 hours, 39 minutes.

Obligatory victory photo

All in all, a great day out. It's hard to saw whether the snow slowed us down or not - it made us slower on the uphill, certainly, but downhills (except Binnian) were significantly quicker and the cold froze the Bog of Donard. Adrian could certainly have done with more sleep beforehand!
Attempting the Wall after a warm spell with dry bogs would be quicker but in the usual sogginess of the Mournes it might not be. Might just have to find out!
I never needed my spare socks, the Inov-8 Mudclaws keeping my feet warm enough (if not dry) and I brough enough clothes and water. Thick gloves were a godsend. If I were to do it again, I'd bring more gels and food, though.



GPS data here (distance is shorter than reality, somehow)

The Annalong Valley Challenge

I haven't posted on this in a while, largely due to the lack of proper adventures I've been having and the fact that ascents of oft-climbed Mournes/Fair Head/Peak district etc routes generally aren't worth writing about, good as they may be. However, this summer has allowed for some actual interesting adventurey stuff. 

About 2 months ago I came up with a silly idea – climb a route on every crag in the Annalong Valley in a day. An Alpine day out in the Mournes. Scholars are divided on how many crags there are in the Annalong Valley, so we decided to go on the basis of the Mournes guidebook – ie everything under the section ‘Slieve Binnian’ counted as one. (perhaps a slight cop-out, others are welcome to try the same challenge including all the many crags of Binnian). As it stood, we decided on the following hit list:

Douglas Crag

Slieve Binnian

Blue Lough Buttress

Buzzard’s Roost

Percy Bysshe

Lamagan slabs

Lower Cove

Upper Cove

Slieve Beg

The Back Castles (Commedagh)

Annalong Buttress

Hare’s Castle

A total of 12 crags, dotted across the valley, meaning that a full horseshoe would be in order. Not only lots of climbing but also lots of walking and possibly some scrambling. Thoroughly Alpine.

Such a silly idea needed silly people to carry it out. Luckily QUBMC is full of these, and with a free day on Tuesday 22 July and good weather I was able to find 2 other accomplices in short order. Not a man to back down from a daft plan, our glorious President, Stephen Rooney, was somewhat annoyed when I told him of my intention because he knew he would have to do it, and that it would be grim. Conor Cadden has been known to do silly things in the Mournes with regularity (like walk up Donard in a full suit on the warmest day of the year) so he wasn’t hard to convince. In fact, he probably shouldn’t have come at all, as he was supposed to pick his sister up from Dublin Airport at 9.30pm that day.

We went for the student approximation of an Alpine start, reaching the head of Carrick Little lane at 9.30am. The bags were light, with a 45m rope and a light rack packed as well as lots of water and a token warm layer than we knew we would never need. Harnesses were worn and helmets ditched in the spirit of ‘fast and light’.

Early morning psyche

Conor Cadden has never been to the Alps, and does not understand the concept of ‘guide’s pace’. Off he shot up to Douglas Crag, planning to go as fast as possible to get it out of the way… he soon gave up on that. Wheezing somewhat, we arrived at the first crag in 35 mins and soloed a short Severe on the side called Fissure Bob. Douglas Crag isn’t visited very often but it looks great – the supposedly great E2 Amen corner particularly so.

Fissure Bob

So, onwards, to number 2 – Binnian. Out of the fog looms a buttress – will that do? Is it in the guide? Turns out it is – Binnian Lough Crag. We solo Blue Jay, HS. Rooney found some frogs.

From there, we went round the Blue Lough Buttress. Another new venue for us, it’s normally wet but the recent dry spell left Waterspout Wall bone dry. Diploma (VD) is soloed, with Rooney electing to use a mono at one point and Cadden getting slightly stuck on the grassy finish. There was no safe way down so we scrambled out upwards through some slightly overhung grassy steps. Indeed, grass climbing became a recurring theme of the day, and was probably harder than any of the rock! A similar experience to Winter climbing in that you grab a clump of grass, close your eyes, grit your teeth, and pull…

Buzzard’s Roost next. A great crag, unfortunately there’s not much easy stuff, and what easy stuff there is is hard. Cadden wanted to climb the Mournes’ only 4* route, the Sheugh, as part of the challenge but that was a silly idea as it’s a bloody ridiculous chimney.

The Roost

There’s a small gully up on the left hand side of the crag whereupon one will find the ‘route’ Harp (HS). The rope came out for this supposed 8m extravaganza.But it’s in the guide. Cadden’s accidental bumslide off a grassy ledge was a noted highpoint. Rooney led the route in fine style, topping out literally metres above the start (4m to be exact, although it would be a nasty solo as it starts off blocks at the top of a gully and is quite tricky).

The world's shortest HS

Onwards, then, to Percy Bysshe via a stopover at Blue Lough to refill on water. There were ducks! It was fierce warm, and the tops were off in short order. Cadden’s factor 50 was much in demand.

Ducks.

Percy Bysshe is another nice wee crag, perhaps a good choice if it’s too windy at Lower Cove. We soloed Dandy (S) and then made our way over to Lamagan slabs to climb FM (VD).

Things got interesting here, as Rooney nearly stood on a half-buried live artillery shell from WWII. This would have been bad. The Lamagan area is plastered in unexploded shells and shell remnants from the war, when naval gunners used it for target practice. Electing not to keep possibly live explosives as a souvenir, we marked the spot with a big X and carried on.

BOOM

FM is always great fun. Since it’s 160m long we elected to move together and climbed the route in about 35 mins. Onwards, then, to Lower Cove, and this time it was my turn to nearly blow myself up when I nearly stood on a fully intact and fully uncovered artillery shell. Oh, dear. Two shells in the space of an hour – and none of us had ever found one before! It’s a wonder the Allies ever won the war if they were so bad and making shells.

FM

Another shell

For once, the wind that blows down 1st corner gully at Lower Cove was pleasant. Tyro (VD) is another lovely route and presented no difficulties. The boggy trudge to Upper Cove allowed us time to think/ramble and we collectively decided that anyone aspiring to executive committee of QUBMC must do the Annalong Valley Challenge. All those successful will earn a commemorative patch, showing a hand grasping a clump of grass, Cadden’s distressed face, an artillery shell, and an ice axe, coz mountaineering. The patch will be design by Cadden’s sister.

Midsummer Madness (an apt name) was the route of choice at Upper Cove, a 30m classic VD. I went first, trailing the rope on my harness, then pulled the bags up when I topped out. This was acutally harder than the climb itself. A brief 5 min stop for food (our longest break all day) and then on towards Slieve Beg. The time was 4pm and Cadden’s chances of being in Dublin for 9.30pm were fading. Difficulties in crossing a steep gully on the side of Cove slowed us down a bit and gave us a chance to come up with some excuses for him to tell his sister – traffic/flooding/tornado/fire/fire tornado/many women requiring help in giving birth/all of the above.

On Slieve Beg we soloed Devil’s Rib (VD, 50m). This was unbearably pleasant and a bit airy. At the top, Rooney’s knee exploded.

Devil's Rib

Or rather, seized, and he lost the power of perambulation for a minute. He manned upwards and got on with it. Shortly thereafter, we all exploded, and things stopped being pleasant. The rope came out for Jobseekers’ Flake (S) on Slieve Commedagh. I don’t think it was particularly hard, but I was shaking all the way up it as I was shattered. The midge was also in attendance, in vast quantities. One advantage of our approach was that we were generally moving too fast for the midges to keep up.

Annalong Buttress managed to hide from us briefly but we soon found Bilberry Bhutia (VD) and soloed it. We were getting quite used to soloing at this point.

No legs left

One last route to go. During the boggy trudge along the faint ridge towards Hare’s Castle clouds started to roll up the valley floor and we were treated to some spectacular cloud inversions. The last route of the day was Block Route (Diff), thankfully also the easiest. By this stage, 10 hours in, Diff felt like HVS and the midgiest hole in the Mournes was living up to its reputation. But it was done. Cadden was very late but refused to turn back at any point so that he didn’t have to come back and do it.

Great day for it

We trudged back to the car, Rooney finding the remains of an artillery shell and keeping it to make a vase. We finished at 8.30 pm – 12 routes, 12 crags, 11 hours, 9 soloes, 6 mountains, 5 ducks, 4 frogs, 3 climbers, 2 live artillery shells and 1 Annalong Valley later.

Go do it. It’s a great Alpine day out, and would make an excellent training day. Lots of walking, lots of scrambling, lots of climbing, and lots of having to make decisions about whether to bother with a rope or to move together.

EPILOGUE: Myself and Lisa went back two days later with Sergeant Neil Graham of Warrenpoint PSNI to try and find the unexploded shells. Driving up Carrick Little track in a police Land Rover Defender was good fun. The first shell we found OK (marked with a big X, visible from Percy Bysshe) but the second one eluded us. We did, however, find the remains of several other shells. If you’re in the Lamagan area, watch out for them! And make sure it’s already gone off before you lift any souvenirs.

Can you find the X?

The easy way to get to Lower Cove

The Old Country

So I finally got round to putting together a video of last summer's expedition. It's here for anyone who's interested.



It's been a while since I've posted anything on this - I've been busy. I moved back to Ireland mid-April and have since been doing a bit of work at climby places around Belfast.

Despite the ridiculously late start to the Spring, trad climbing season arrived and I've been getting out when I can. A few trip to the Mournes and Fair Head have reminded me how outstanding the climbing is around these parts!

One particular highlight was an ascent of 'The Sheugh', a **** route on Buzzard's Roost in the Mournes described as 'just on the humorous side of character building' and 'best savoured by a large party in high sprits or preferably full of spirits'

The Sheugh is the cleft in the middle. Old school climbing

Stuart and myself had gone to Lower Cove but it had been far too windy to climb there. It didn't take much to convince Stuart (a caver in a past life) to make an attempt on the Sheugh, which was as wet and manky as you could ever hope.

Stuart at the start

The Sheugh, justifiably, has a fierce reputation and is avoided by most - see here for an excellent account of a rescue of some local 'notable climbers' a few years ago!

In the belly of the beast

It was, in short, absolutely terrifying. Scrittly damp rock and airy traversing on bad gear. The top-out involved trying to find the most solid grass to escape on. Brilliant fun.

The slightly grassy top out

Avoid wearing good clothes

I've fallen in love with Fair Head (again) and had some great days out there recently. Cúchullain (E2) with John O'Hara was an incredible experience, somehow holding on past almost all reserves and bellyflopping over the top after 5 hours on the wall.

On the top pitch of Cúchullain (Photo: J McCune)

The Fair Head meet was on at the weekend just past, and it was great to see so many people there. The weather was good enough to get climbing, the craic was great and Nick Bullock's talk hilarious. I had a go at the famous 'route for the aspiring hard man' GBH (E3 6a) at the Prow but fell off the crux repeatedly. My hands are now numb and mangled. Oh well, next time...

I also cleaned The Offence - a great HVS at the Prow that has been neglected (probably because the guide doesn't paint it in a very flattering light). Well worth the effort and it saw a few ascents on Saturday after cleaning.

The forecast is looking great this week - off to Gola island in Donegal on Wednesday for some seacliff fun. Yay climbing!

Smith's Revisited

I posted my previous entry about the epic on Smith's on UKClimbing, out of interest in seeing the reaction and also as a cautionary tale. The response was (perhaps surprisingly?) overwhelmingly positive and constructive, which is great. I thank everyone who read it and those who gave advice - I learned a lot from the experience, and some of the suggestions from UKCers will definitely be taken on board in future. I hope the lessons learned are useful to others - as the saying goes, "A smart man learns from his mistakes, but a truly wise man learns from the mistakes of others."

Here's what I would do differently in future:

• Not attach my axes to a sling around my shoulders (common sense really)
• Pay more attention to cornices, before starting up a route.
• In Winter, try and keep open the option of retreat. Don't climb into a position you can't get back down from
• Carry a deadman on the Ben (or anywhere there's likely to be cornices). This could have allowed us to build a belay in the snow
• Practice the art of cornice tunneling
• Carry 2 ropes rather than 1
• Handwarmers in first aid kit
• Get more practice on steepish ice
• More malt loaf

I'm sure I'll come back and update this list in future.

Below are photos taken from Tower Ridge of myself and Stuart on the route, taken by Cédric Moreau. You can see me hanging from a screw well below my axes, and the monster cornice well above. There looks to be a way through the cornice on the left, but we were not able to get anywhere near there thanks to the vertical snow in the way.

photo: Cédric Moreau, 16.3.13

Taken not long before the blizzard. I'm visible in the centre, below(!) my axes. Stuart is belaying from the ice cave. Daft cornice visible above - didn't see it properly from below!

photo: Cédric Moreau, 16.3.13

close up of my flailing below my axes after falling off

Meanwhile, winter conditions have continued well past Easter, but I've lost the head for it (for now). Probably for the best. I've been getting a bit of trad done, though - including a taste of Central Belt Dolerite and an entertaining week in the Peak District that involved getting snowed in in a pub car park, a lot of digging, not being able to climb on gritstone because of cornices (irony), setting up an ersatz 'refugee camp' campsite in the trailer of an articulated lorry on a farm in Barlow and getting my revenge on a hand-jamming crack I failed miserably on a few years ago. 

A remarkably fun experience, in all.

Off to Dunkeld tomorrow. Then back to Belfast next Friday...

"On belay. Don't fall"

A misadventure on Ben Nevis, 16 March 2013.

“On belay. Don’t fall”

I’m sitting awkwardly into the snow slope, attached to two ice screws and half buried in drifting snow. Stuart has just reached the base of the cornice atop Smith’s Route on Ben Nevis, just 4m from the summit plateau. The walkie talkie crackles his pronouncement on the reliability in his anchor. I think back to the numerous other occasions I’ve heard the same worried call over the radio. It’s never been particularly inspiring.

The snow’s gotten pretty bad now, and any mark of his passage has already disappeared. Scottish winter weather at its finest. The screws come out and I’m moving up again – this terrain is easy enough, certainly a lot easier than the last pitch, which I failed miserably on. My gloves have frozen solid while belaying in the blizzard and ice has formed on my eyebrows. This must be what they call full conditions.

Following the rope up the steepening central ramp, the ice turns to hollow honeycombed unpleasantness. I join Stuart at the ‘belay’, the cornice looming over us, the summit mocking us in its proximity. It’s 2.30 – last time we were on the way down by now.

The day started off as well as any Scottish day ever could. A glorious weekend on the Ben a fortnight ago left me very psyched, and I managed to infect Stuart with my enthusiasm on a visit home to Belfast last week. He caught the citylink bus over on Friday, and north we headed in the Focus cragmobile estate. Down went the back seats, and out came the sleeping bags. A clear night, good sign. The alarm set for 5.30.

As it does with almost depressing regularity, 5.30 rears its ugly head - but for once I find it quite easy to rouse myself at this inhumane time. Hard not to be psyched – it’s perfectly clear, total visibility, a good forecast, low avalanche risk. Couldn’t be better. Today is going to be good.

Alpine glory, from the CIC hut

The 2 hour slog to the CIC hut passes in no time at all, and Ben Nevis looks splendid in its winter coat. There’s no wind, and we share the usual banter with the other climbers emerging from and getting ready at the hut – it’s all very pleasant and civilised for the Ben.

“What are you going for?”

“Tower Ridge, haven’t done it before”

“You’re in for a treat, it’s a classic, did it 2 years ago on a day like this”

“Excellent, what about you guys?”

“We’ll have a go at Smith’s, bit of a slog up to get to it but sure it’s quite short, then we’ll drop down Number 4 gully and maybe have a go at Italian Climb or something. Sure we’ve loads of time, and when I was here last week we topped out by midday, plenty of time to do two routes.”

I think I know what I’m doing by this stage, having spent the season in Scotland, on a university placement at a power station in Ayrshire.

There’s a well worn track up Observatory gully. Two teams on Point Five Gully and another two gearing up for it, despite routes either side being empty. Seems a bit silly to me - having climbed it (and somehow had it to ourselves) a fortnight ago I wouldn’t fancy being underneath someone in that chimney. At least Smith’s looks free.

Echo Wall

Sure enough it is – past Point Five we’re breaking trail. Echo Wall looks steep. That Dave MacLeod is a mad eejit. Slog slog slog. I must be getting good at this walking up hill lark.

Stuart enjoying a classic Scottish approach

We reach Gardyloo Buttress at 9.20am. Smith’s Route looks good, plenty of ice on it. The weather’s still glorious – still and cloudless, an Alpine feel to the whole affair, might as well be in that amphitheatre on the Italian side on Mt Maudit in July, nor Scotland in March! Hard not to feel a bit smug and superior.

Smith's Route takes a line through the middle of the buttress

Stuart takes first lead. He’s not done a huge amount of winter climbing but he’s keen, and stronger than I am. He got through an epic on Glover’s Chimney last year fine and he’s used to suffering, coming from a caving background. He’s about to become President of QUBMC anyway, so he should be well fit for it.

Stuart leading

Sure enough, he is – despite a pair of knackered crampons borrowed from the club which don’t seem to stay in ice very well, he makes short work of the deceptively steep first pitch and belays in a cave between two icicles. I’m feeling good; this is what it’s all about. The ice isn’t as plastic as I’d hoped - explains Stuart’s difficulties with the crampons. We’ll be at the top in an hour or two, sure it’s two hard pitches then easy ground after that.

The second pitch is the crux and my turn to lead. A steep traverse followed by a sustained vertical section. This looks scary. Oh well, I’ll give it a bash, man up and all that.

And lo, it is scary. Traversing on steep ice is difficult and slow. I’m Irish, I’m not built for this ice climbing lark. Thoughts of summer weather and jamming cracks at Fair Head drift through my mind. My crampons aren’t going in as well as I’d hoped; I’m over gripping the axes. There’s a hymn I haven’t heard since primary school stuck on repeat in my brain. I get across and fire a screw in, relief. Moving up – Christ, this is steep. Another screw goes in. Axe, step, step, lock off. Getting tired. In goes the next axe. Keep moving – looks like a rest a couple of moves up ahead. Crampons keep popping out – breathe! . Midnight Cruiser, that’s a nice soft touch E1, far better than this cold suffering...  Another screw goes in, but my arms are really suffering. Axe, step, step, slip, axe. Lock off. Lots of nice bridging rests at Fair Head too. I let go of one axe to shake out – my other arm begins to unravel. Uh oh. Switch over – the same happens again. I haven’t got enough strength left to hold the lock-off while placing the other axe above me. B*llocks.

“Stuart, watch me, I think I’m about to come off!”

Now I’ve embraced the leashless approach to winter climbing, and my Matrix Lite axes are attached to me with a length of 5mm cord through the grip rests. I used to attach this cord to my harness with a karabiner, but this would always get tangled up in my crampons – so I’ve taken to clipping it to a sling that I carry over my shoulders. This, it turns out, is not the brightest idea.

My prediction to Stuart was right. I come off, but the rope doesn’t come tight – the axes hold and I stop abruptly, hanging with a sling over my head, holding me up by my right shoulder. Right arm going dead. Oh dear.

I struggle out of the sling and slump onto an ice screw. Now my axes are out of reach. Brilliant.

20 minutes and some ersatz aid climbing later (hanging clipped to a screw, placing another screw at full reach, clipping the rope to the top one, standing in a sling and hanging from the top screw, repeat) I’m back up at my axes. Five metres to easier ground, but I’m shattered and my arms hurt. Maybe I bit off a bit more than I can chew.

Eventually I wobble onto the snow ramp above, and in go two ice screws. I can see the cornice above, happy days. I can also see a big wall of cloud coming in from the southeast – that wasn’t in the forecast.

Stuart races up the pitch, not needing to rest at all. Very impressive, maybe I should’ve given him that lead as a Development Opportunity. At least he was terrified on it as well, wouldn’t do for him to enjoy himself too much.

Stuart reaching the belay atop the crux pitch

 We swap over the gear and Stuart sets off up what I hope is the final pitch – my antics below having put us a bit behind schedule.

The cloud arrives, and there goes the lovely Alpine weather – replaced with heavy winds and a lot of snow. Damn.

Spindrift down my neck. Ahh, it’s been a while. Jaysus, it’s cold! My gloves rime up and start to freeze. That’s inconvenient.

P3. Just before the blizzard. Daft cornice visible above

Stuart doesn’t see an obvious way through the cornice. He sets up a belay of sorts and makes clear his feelings toward it over the radio. I follow him up over the increasingly bad snow and ice until reaching the honeycomb and powder affair of the monster cornice. Ah now, this doesn’t look great. No matter – there must be a way through further over.

There isn’t. I remember that according to the UKC logbook no-one has climbed this in two weeks, and there’s been a fair bit of weather in that time. I traverse along the steep powder, towards Tower Gully. Between gusts there are voices from Tower Ridge but I can’t see more than 10m in front of me in the intermittent whiteout. The snow under the building powder starts making worrying whomping noises as I go along and there’s nowhere decent for gear or a gap in the cornice. Eventually it clears just enough to see that there is no way through the cornice. Hmm.

I turn back and find a patch of what seems to be good ice in the cornice above my head. In go a couple of ice screws and I belay Stuart over. We hatch a plan – Stuart, being tall, will reach as high as he can, plant his axes, and pull up through the overhang. A bellyflop over the top should see him on the plateau.

He gives it a go. The axes go in, he pulls, he’s over the lip, he’s moving up and then he’s lying upside down on the slope below me.

“It’s just powder.”

Unperturbed, he tries again. Slightly farther but whoosh, down he goes again. And a third time. This isn’t going well.

I have a go at aiding my way through like I did on the steep bit earlier. Hanging off the belay, I place a screw as far up in the good ice as I can. Seems solid. I clip a sling to the belay, stand in it, clip myself to the highpoint.

Bang.

Now I’m upside down on the 65° slope below the cornice – and so is Stuart. Not only has the screw I was attached to ripped out, but so has half the belay.

Right.

Now we’re running out of options. The weather’s just getting worse, its 4pm, we can’t climb up, there’s nothing to abseil off, and the blasted cornice is too big to dig through. In any case we’d have to chop away what little we’re attached to. And so, out comes the emergency phone from the first aid kit.

“Mountain Rescue, please.”

Of course, the helicopter can’t come near us in this weather. Clag all the way down to the valley, according to Donald on the phone. It’ll take at least 3 hours for the brave folk of the Lochaber MRT to reach us – Donald advises we try and force a way down. We’re not keen, there’s no way we can get down the way we came up, everywhere else is steep powder with the gods know what below, and there’s no anchor worth speaking of. But we’re getting cold, and I don’t know how we’ll be in 3 hours’ time. I traverse back over to the top of the route to hunt for good ice, just for something to do.

No luck. It’s just honeycomb ice and powder. Even worse than the ‘good’ ice that failed before! We need something better for an abseil. I keep digging.

And then, like Zhukov’s armies at Stalingrad, salvation appears from the winter gloom. Another climber appears out of the murk below us – coming up from a different direction to we had. A shouted exchange reveals he’s also on Smith’s; furthermore, he has come up an easy ramp that he’s happy to down-climb when he sees no way over the top. Not only that, his belayer is attached to a peg belay 40m below. Happy frigging days.

I inform Stuart that we were back in business, and start climbing down. Snow coming in so heavy that the tracks from the climber below are already gone by the time I reach them. How did we miss this way up? This is far better. Decent snow, I even get an ice screw in and tell Stuart he can start moving. We’re downclimbing on grade II/III snow and ice but I don’t mind, the axes are going in nicely and the feeling’s coming back in my hands. Yes lad! I call Mountain Rescue to say that we can get ourselves down now; they’re glad to hear it and stand down. Thankfully they haven’t set off yet.

I reach the peg belay. We only have one 60m rope, meaning we can only abseil 30m at a time. The Three Wise Men of the other party are happy enough to let us abseil on their pair of 60m ropes, meaning we can reach easy ground in one go. Manna from heaven.

By 6.30pm we’re back at the base of the route. It’s getting dark, I don’t notice the snow anymore. I put my hood back on, filling my jacket with powder. Damnit. The snow is thigh deep, probably not the safest – but we have to get down. Wading past Echo Wall (definitely mad, that MacLeod) and the Douglas boulder, the snow somehow doesn’t part with the mountain and soon the lights of the CIC appear below. We’re unscathed. Time for some celebratory chocolate and to take off the gear we don’t need any more. Out comes the camera to capture this moment for posterity – Stuart’s photo sums up the mood perfectly.

This is the life

“Something tells me we’re not getting another route done today.”

9pm, back at the car. Everything is soaked. Bacon and pasta never tasted so good. The police pay us a visit to fill in a mountain incident form. I’ve never sat in the back of a police car before, I suppose this means people in Belfast will respect me more.

We write off Sunday (St Patrick ’s Day). There’s a lot of fresh snow, but mostly we’re completely shatnered and need to recover physically and psychologically. Retreat to Paisley, but our plans to have a quiet pint in Wetherspoon’s are shattered – the local team have won a game of fitba, it seems, and everyone is quite jolly about it.

Lessons learned: never, ever, underestimate the Ben. All that extra stuff you carry ‘just in case’ is sometimes very, very useful. Two-way radios are the business for mountaineering; I don’t know how I managed without them. It’s worth carrying 2 ropes in case you have to abseil. Always be mindful of escape routes while climbing. Cornices are b*stards. The weather forecast can be wrong. Malt loaf is the business when you’re cold and tired.

Pile jackets are still the best

There are 3 guys out there (whose names I never caught) to whom I owe pints. And that’s not to mention Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team, whose services we didn’t require but whose support was invaluable. Their dedication is incredible, particularly as they are all volunteers, and they don’t get near enough recognition.