County Climber Winter 2013

   

About the Northumbrian Mountaineering Club (NMC) The NMC is a meeting point for climbers, fell walkers and mountaineers of all abilities.

Our activities centre on rock-climbing in the summer and snow and ice climbing in the winter.

Meets are held regularly throughout the year.

The NMC is not, however, a commercial organization and does NOT provide instructional courses.

NMC Meets The NMC Members’ handbook (available to all members) and the NMC website list the dates and locations of all meets.

This magazine lists the meets arranged for the next few months.

Non-members: Are always welcome to attend meets.

Note: Winter indoor (wall) meets require a minimum of prospective membership (see below) due to venue requirements for third party insurance.

Membership Details Members are Prospective until they fulfill the conditions for Full Membership (see membership form.) Full membership is valid for one year from the end of February. Prospective membership expires at the end of March each year.

Membership gets you: NMC County Climber

 

Copy of the quarterly magazine.

BMC Public Liability Insurance for climbing incidents.

Discounted NMC guide books.

Discounted entry at certain indoor climbing walls and shops.

Access to the extensive NMC library.

Access to huts of affiliated clubs

Join the NMC Download a Membership form from: www.thenmc.org.uk Send the signed and completed membership form with a cheque made out to the NMC for the membership fee (see below) to the Membership Secretary at the address shown on the membership form.

Membership Fees •Full £23 •Under 18 or in full-time education £15.00 (pending AGM ratification)

Magazine articles This is YOUR magazine so please keep it running by writing about your own climbing experiences. Even beginners have something to write about.

Send contributions to: magazine@thenmc.org.uk

Black & White Photos?

Unless otherwise stated all photos are taken by the author of the article.

Committee 2013/2014 President – John Dalrymple Vice Pres. – vacant Secretary – Andrew Shanks Treasurer – Eva Diran Membership – Adrian Wilson Magazine Editor – John Spencer Social – Sarah Follmann Librarian – Eva Diran Web – Ian Birtwistle General: John Mountain, Pete Flegg, Ian Ross, Ed Sciberras, John Vaughan

As an affiliate to the BMC, the NMC endorses the following participation statement: The BMC recognises that climbing, hill walking and mountaineering are activities with a danger of personal injury or death.

Participants in these activities should be aware of and accept these risks and be responsible for their own actions and involvement.

If you received this magazine as a paper copy, then you are missing part of the picture as the download version of the magazine is in colour.

Copyright

To arrange for email notification that the latest issue of the magazine is ready for you to download, contact the membership secretary at: secretary@thenmc.org.uk

The views expressed in the magazine are not necessarily those of the Editor or the NMC.

Photos

Autumn 2013

The contents of this magazine are copyright and may not be reproduced without permission of the NMC.

Cover Shot Al Horsfield on Ritchie’s Gully (IV/4), Creag Meagaidh (Horsfield Collection) page 2 of 25

What’s in this issue?

Editorial Cairngorm Four Thousanders (Martin Cooper) Forty at 40 (Al Horsfield) B Gully (Geoff Dutton) Dreaming of Wild Turkeys (Bryn Roberts) A Short Walk to a Long Wedding in Paradise (Lewis Preston) Club Business

p4 p5 p6 p12 p16 p19 p24

Evening Meets Hadrian Leisure Centre, Burnside Community College, until the end of March, every Wednesday from 17.45 to 21.45. We’re officially supposed to show proof of membership, £5 entrance fee. Adjourn to the pub afterwards for banter.

Dates for Your Diary NMC Annual General Meeting – 8.15pm, Wednesday January 22nd, 2014, Burnside – see p24 for draft agenda Winter talk by Steve ‘Kiwi Steve’ Bate – Wednesday January 19th., 2014, Burnside Steve has a congenital eye disease which is slowly rendering him blind. Undaunted he spent last winter in training in preparation for tackling Zodiac on El Capitan which he finally nailed (both literally and figuratively!) in the early summer, with the support of Andy Kirkpatrick. He is now in training for the Rio Paralympics as a tandem cyclist! He’ll be talking about both of these adventures.

Winter Weekend Meets Below are listed this season’s official Club meets, with name and contact phone number/email of the meet leader. Although some meets are, at the time of publication, full or nearly full, people do drop out so it is still worth contacting the meet lead to get your name down n reserve.     

10-12th January, Mill Cottage, Feshibridge, Adrian Wilson (07970823483) – this meet is full 31st January – 2nd February, Raeburn Cottage, Laggan, Ed Scibberas (07789280847) – 1 place left 14th – 16th February, Muir Cottage, Braemar, Carolyn Horrocks (carolyn_horrocks0202@yahoo.co.uk) 7th – 9th March, Lagangarbh Cottage, Glencoe, Eva Diran (07824627772) 21st – 23rd March, CIC Hut, Ben Nevis, John Spencer (07813129065) – this meet is full

Please let the leader know as soon as possible if you are unable to attend a meet then your place can possibly be reallocated. If you cancel after booking a place, and your place cannot be filled you will still have to pay the cost of the hut.

Tatras panorama – see page 19 for more!

(Lewis Preston)

NMC County Climber

Autumn 2013

page 3 of 25

Editorial John Spencer

Hot on the heels of the (later than intended) Autumn issue comes this Winter offering, reaching you just in time for leisurely consumption over the Christmas break! This time last year I had already enjoyed (in that perverse way that defines our sport) a couple of outings in the Highlands in deep powder snow and bitter cold, 4 new Munros under the belt and crampons and axes wielded in anger. The early snow and Arctic temperatures was, of course, a prelude to what turned out to be the best winter season for……however many decades, and weren’t we all rubbing our hands in glee at the prospect of another even better one as the tabloids screamed headlines warning us we were heading for the mother of all freeze-ups?.

Well, a few weeks on, following a big thaw and with temperatures in double figures (just) it all seems a bit unlikely. The tenor of the ‘conditions’ threads on UKC has moved from gleeful hand rubbing as the first snow fell last month to plaintive musings on whether or not winter was over before it started……Ah, well.

Anyway there’s a distinctive theme of adventure and exploration in the articles in this issue, along with a couple of narrow escapes.

Martin Cooper kicks off with his tale of a stravaig across the Cairngorm plateau in pursuit of as yet ‘unticked’ 4000 thousand foot summits.

He got what he was after but NMC County Climber

asks whether it really make sense to climb a hill just because of its height – answers, please, on a postcard!

Al Horsfield tells a Treeemendous yarn about his 40 days on the white stuff last winter – yes, forty days. I had four weekends in Scotland nicking half a dozen decent lines, and 8 days in Cogne and thought I was doing well! Al takes us on an Epic-tastic journey from Lake District esoteria in lessthan-ideal conditions, via cascading on perfect ice under a blue sky in the Ecrins, to a 23 hour round trip to climb Orion Face Direct on the Ben without a route description…..oh, and the odd near miss. Plus a new baby…

The Doctor Stories, the ‘preposterous but just possible’ adventures of The Doctor and his two companions The Apprentice and the (anonymous) narrator, were written by the late Geoff Dutton, climber, scientist, poet and write. He edited the Scottish Mountaineering Club Journal between 1960 and 1971, and it was in that august organ that some of the stories first appeared, later in magazines such as Climber and Rambler (as it was) and Mountain, even Cold Climbs. They were eventually published as a collection in The Complete Doctor Stories (comprising The Ridiculous Mountains and Nothing So Simple As Climbing, Baton Wicks Publishers). They are fictional, of course, but capture just about all the stereotypes and situations you may encounter in the (Scottish) mountains. Dutton, Winter 2013

who died in 2010, wrote with an affectionate, off-beat humorous style, crafting closely observed pieces describing adventures and (invariably) mishaps that we can all relate to. With the kind permission of Baton Wicks, to continue the wintry theme, we are able to give you the story of ‘B Gully’.

Bryn Roberts, ‘surely-he’snot-that-old’ pensioner that he now is, describes a road trip in the western US of A in the esteemed company of Kenny Summers and Sarah Überschnell Follmann.

Despite injury, illness, apocalyptic floods and closure of national parks, they managed to have a great time and knocked off some impressive routes on granite domes and desert towers.

What he took to trigger his dream of wild turkeys he doesn’t actually say – maybe just the beer (see back page),, maybe not….

Finally, the ever-intrepid Lewis Preston, the NMC’s answer to Bill Tilman, describes his short(ish) walk through the Tatra mountains from Poland to Slovakia to get to Adrian and Martina’s wedding. This time he had a map, but in every other respect, he tells us (apart from his unbounded enthusiasm), he was woefully unprepared. Thankfully he made it in one piece, and in good time to join the merry throng assembling for the wedding, Read on…. 

page 4 of 25

Cairngorm Four Thousanders Martin Cooper

The cloud had lifted. Late afternoon sunshine lit up Ben Macdui. Suddenly I was where I wanted to be. I was where I had wanted to be for a long time, high above the An Garbh Choire between Braeriach and Cairn Toul.

The low rays of a September sun shone across granite boulders, granite scree, illuminated each of the myriad pools of water, the wet stones, the straggly yellow grass that struggles to grow. I had reached the summit of Braeriach at four o’clock. It would be dark by eight. I needed somewhere to camp but not high up here on the plateau. A cold wind was blowing in from the east.

The Cairngorm mountains are unique amongst Britain’s upland regions. Nowhere else can you stay high above a thousand metres for so long.

Nowhere else can the eye take in such distant views across rounded granite peaks.

Nowhere else is the scale of these mountains matched.

Most of my Cairngorm trips have been limited to winter escapades in Coire an Lochain and Coire an tSneachda, added to a couple of trips to Ben Macdui, some climbing on Hell’s Lum Crag and two days walking over Ben Avon and Beinn a’Bhuird. My objective on this trip was to link up as many of the Cairngorm four thousand feet peaks as I could manage in a couple of days.

I had first climbed Cairngorm and Braeraich in 1986. There were perfect NMC County Climber

winter conditions on an Easter NMC Meet, snow covered peaks, nevé like toughened glass, blue sky and sunshine glinting from the snow crystals in every direction. My brother, Niall, and I camped at Loch Morlich, scraping frost from the inside of the tent each morning. We climbed The Couloir in Coire an Lochan, the Fiachaill Ridge, and Braeriach. On our second day we topped out on Coire nan Lochan, thinking we might walk to Ben Macdui. The cloud had dropped and we were walking into a ferocious gale. After twenty minutes we looked at each other. No words were needed. There was no way we could make it to Ben Macdui, never mind coming back. It was a good lesson learned early. The Cairngorms in winter should be treated with respect.

It was only the third weekend in September this year but already snow had fallen in the corries and small patches were to be found high in Coire Brochain. Looking down into the steep gullies of Braeriach, damp, black and mossy, it was hard to imagine the desire to climb, but the grandeur of the place is impressive and the remoteness of the location inspiring. Now I headed around the lip of the great corrie, crossing above the Falls of Dee, enormous views to east and west, with the whole landscape almost to myself. Earlier plans to traverse Cairn Toul had been abandoned and I dropped off the plateau to the south east to find a sheltered valley and stream for my campsite. It was a chilly night. I was glad I was carrying too much.

Winter 2013

The cloud had dropped overnight but, undeterred, I climbed to the top of The Angel’s Peak and peered down the line of the north east ridge. More boulder hopping was needed to attain the summit of Cairn Toul, still with no views. I was definitely carrying too much and moving too slowly and it took until after one thirty to reach the Corrour Bothy. A return over Ben Macdui was out of the question but I had now at least finished my ascent of the four thousand feet peaks, twenty seven years after starting.

It looked a long way along the Lairig Ghru but I was pretty keen to get back to my car before nightfall and pushed myself hard, albeit still going slowly. At the Pools of Dee I was stopped by two German backpackers who wanted to know how much further to Rothiemurchus Forest. When I told them about five miles they decided to put up their tent.

“And you..” they asked, “..where are you heading for?”

“Oh, just through the Chalamain Gap,” I replied. “I can do the last bit with my headtorch.”

But could I? Pretty knackered by now, I estimated that I needed to be at the Chalamain Gap by seven thirty to have enough light left to scramble over the boulders. A sound like a dog barking surprised me. No dog. In the dusk, just across the other side of the burn, a stag was lolloping over the heather in pursuit of a hind, completely unaware of my presence. He seemed to be page 5 of 25

enjoying himself. I pressed on.

It was dark and I needed to

switch on my headtorch as I climbed up from the burn to the Chalamain Gap. My watch said eight thirty. A strong wind was blowing straight through the gap, my legs were tired and my pack felt heavier than ever.

Perhaps I wouldn’t make it.

The lights of Aviemore were mocking me. Dreams of a cold pint of beer receded. I didn’t want to break my ankle scrambling over boulders in the dark. But there was nowhere to pitch my tent up here.

Have you ever had to run into a river, at ten o’clock, in the dark to retrieve your tent before it’s properly pitched?

Only the outside was completely wet. I couldn’t find any rocks to weight it NMC County Climber

down once I had got the thing pitched but at least the ground by the river was flat and I had packed enough

40th birthday in the Lakes ended with mountain biking in a monsoon. A traditional end to the year. The Lakes

food for a second night out.

The end of a long day.

was where I was headed now, but this time the sky was blue, it was cold and a midweek day’s soloing on Helvellyn was a December treat. Always tricky, the first day out of winter; no sticky rubber and chalk, lots of spikes to tangle and catch, numb hands, and the remains of last year’s snacks in rucksack pockets. All went well, chipping up three lines, avoiding the inevitable Helvellyn party of three novices armed with a pile of superfluous ice screws.

Ambling back to the car I wondered if perhaps this year would be good.

I reached Aviemore by lunchtime the next day and treated myself to a huge breakfast at the Mountain Cafe, my favourite place to sit and admire the northern panorama of the Cairngorms.

It was a good feeling. Now there’s just Bynack More, Beinn Mheadhoin, Derry Cairngorm and The Devil’s Peak. Does it really make sense to climb mountains just because they are a certain height? 

Forty at 40 Al Horsfield

A soggy summer gave way to a soaking September. My Winter 2013

Next outing was the traditional Alpine cascading trip. Working Christmas ensured a free New Year page 6 of 25

week and myself, Katherine and four friends hit the steep blue ice of the Ecrins. There is a certain schadenfreude in

January in the Lakes, heading for Central Icefall (III/IV), Spout Head. My love of the esoteric makes

Al on an ice pillar, Crevoux, Ecrins

thudding up blue ice in minus-10 while friends back home text, complaining about their New Year’s day hangovers. Five days of Ecrins fun; annoying Frenchmen, being loud, trying to order a beer in French and driving on compacted snow.

The rat was fed for a week or two, but soon thoughts always turn to ice. Constant forecast-watching, sneaky conditions-checking on-line at work, working out snowfall and freeze-thaw cycles.

NMC County Climber

friends laugh, a semi-incondition route in the Lakes means more than any foreign ice. We surveyed the cliff, no ice fall cascaded down the central portion. Katherine chatted to a chilly sheep, equipment on and ready, but would it be another day chopping at damp turf sods?

A brief exploration revealed a hidden gully. Filled with ice.

Esoteric-tastic!

Off we went, climbing half decent ice, guessing the route at bifurcations. A long runout, was this right? A dodgy, half-in screw spurting brown water stood between me and Winter 2013

the now distant chilly sheep.

Up a bit, a bit more….then salvation, the sentinel marker of any winter route; a half-in , bent, rusty peg. ‘Superb!’ I shouted. The sheep and Katherine looked up, similar expressions on their faces.

We finished up Skew Gill Central and skipped down to the car. Next day was a trip to Angle Tarn Ice Falls, a mini ice park, pick your line and go. Easterly winds howled and water flowed behind clear ice walls. Try it sometime….

Still in January, a plod up Sleet Cove to Hutaple Crag.

Knee deep snow, alpine conditions. East Hutaple Groove (III), proved as good as the write-up. Great ice and mixed climbing, with typical deteriorating weather.

Greenhow End is tricky to get off in poor weather, even the guide book says so. ‘No worries‘ I reassured Katherine, reaching into my sack for the compass, and emerging with a banana skin.

‘Sure it’s here…’ Navigating with fruit was not an option so we headed down a steep gully on the flank of the crag.

‘Gets less steep here …’ as I down-climbed a vertical green chimney. We made it, but not without a few of the long silences you only know if you’re married.

Back that week for a variation on the same route and East Hutaple Gully (II) with a friend. The latter not hard, but a superb ice pitch made it worthwhile.

Returning home, extolling its virtues, reliving the moves in the car, the Brampton speed camera caught me. It was worth the points.

page 7 of 25

The cold spell lasted, and a mid-week solo on Great End Central Left, Window and variation, so now the ‘Holy Trinity’? South East Gully is less often in good nick.

Wading up the initial pitches to the steep crux, unconsolidated snow was a bad omen. Enough ice was there, just need the right bits.

Come on, I’d done this enough times before.

But I’d never, ever, fallen off any winter route.

Soloing alone was not the time to try.

One hand pinged, left foot off, right foot, one hand held me to my

axe in a crack. My shoulder, it must be dislocated. How many of those had I put back at work? Mostly with morphine…..It turned out OK, and after 20 minutes of fainting nausea I down climbed mixed ground. Don’t solo dodgy ground….ever again.

screws and clips: ‘Petrol money.’

The next weekend with Tim Catterall and Katherine. A trio of routes on Helvellyn, the best being Blade Runner (IV). Katherine refused to descend the steep snow of the Grade I route, fear and anger welling

Al on Dancing Falls (WI5+), Ecrins

favourite icy playground. Phew….then it went. It’s amazing how far you can fall, bouncing down a chimney without realising it, time and distance unrelated. Then I stopped, a foot jamming on ice and an NMC County Climber

A return the next week saw the Holy Trinity completed in better condition, and a further solo trip to Link Cove to climb Runnel and Step Gully, retrieving lost ice

Winter 2013

irrationally, this would usually be no problem .A snow bucket belay fixed the problem, and Tim waited patiently. We discovered later she was pregnant, hormones and nature are reassuringly

page 8 of 25

powerful in a world of absolutes and exactitudes.

managed a first look at Raven Crag Gully (III/IV, see Cold Climbs) despite a lie-in back in Newcastle! The interesting lower pitches ended in the magnificent final ice-fest, topped by a huge ice umbrella formed by unrelenting easterly winds.

My sack hit part of it, sending large fragments down to miss Katherine by a foot. A larger bit actually lodged in my

knackered drive north after work, a few hours in a bunkhouse and a solo day to suss out conditions. South Post Direct, or almost direct, avoiding the steep final pitch fearful of a 1500 foot plunge.

The grade III escape was scary enough: unconsolidated snow over steep-ish ice. The final 150 ft took as long as the preceding 1300.Every placement had to

Half term, late February, and equivocal conditions. A safer option was a return to the Ecrins, courtesy of Easyjet. Vallee Du Fournel, Freissinieres and other locations.This time conditions were fantastic.

Every day the ‘Guess the Temperature‘ game on the car read-out was won by predicting minus double figures.

Shoulders and arms ached in the vertical blue world .Fairy tale ice caves provided mid climb sanctuary, overhanging moves to gain vertical walls of ice.

Ice screws perfect once chandeliers of ice, as brittle in mood as the French teams we Moving off from the frozen jellyfish, The Wand (V/5), Meagaidh encountered, were smashed to provide clean webbing, pulling me back count…what had I said about placements. One memorable with every upward soloing? pitch was truly overhanging movement. I finished with (Dancing Falls, 5+ or this frozen trophy, realising it As I drove my brother from Scottish 6) where repeated was twenty odd years since Inverness airport we newly formed ice layers my last ascent. discussed plans; nothing overlay the older inner layers, desperate, this was our annual axe hooking easy but screws Several more days in the climbing meet and Giles’ hard to place.

Lakes climbing old favourites only ice for two or more preceded the first Scottish years. We stomped in the Early March was not trip of the year. Creag next day, his 25 year old promising, and a day or two Meagaidh was the target. picks clanking. South Pipe on the rock interloped with Constant east winds blew for Direct (IV) , rarely in good two more days on Great End a month and central and nick, with a fine ice cave near and a fine trip to Raven Crag, western Scotland became the top. It all went well but Borrowdale. Somehow we unusually reliable. The usual tomorrow an easier day was NMC County Climber

Winter 2013

page 9 of 25

needed, Gi decided. I capitulated and suggested a nice Grade III. By mid morning the next day we were making a belay at the base of the Wand.

‘Looks steep for a III’ said my long-suffering brother.

‘Weeell.... III/IV maybe` I

me; `Not bad that….and you’ve belayed under a frozen jelly fish.’ Three more pitches and we walked off the benign looking but deadly plateau, keeping clear of the huge curving cornices, a specialty of Meagaidh.

‘OK, we paced well, bearings good, I must have cocked up our top out point.‘ Working out where we must be, we back-traced our position on the map, corrected ourselves and eventually hit the posts heralding the arête. ‘Should have kept a rope on…‘ That

Kat (and Megan) on top of Creag Meagaidh

replied.The second of the team in front looked down ‘This is great!. Gi looked enthused. the climber edged upwards...‘Yea, great conditions, doesn’t seem like a grade V!‘ What Gi said is best left between siblings. ‘You always do this, you……!’.

I pushed upwards in a vertical fantasy world of ice tufas and chandeliers, taking a belay under a huge ice umbrella. Its domed blue top curved round and down, to end in a fringe of deadly looking daggers. Gi joined NMC County Climber

The next day we really did climb a Grade III, Eastern Corner, the lowest route in the corrie. The wind was up and the mist was down, so a wise choice. An often overlooked route, it provided fine sport to the invisible plateau. We paced our bearings to hit the knife edge arête which was the portal to a long but easy plod down.

Visibility was just beyond feet, the wind drove snow into our faces, turning eye sockets into useless frozen cataracts. Suddenly there was the edge of a cornice, inches away. Controlled fear surged; Winter 2013

was too close. It really is true, most accidents happen in descent.

Easter week, and Meagaidh again. Tim Catterall and myself drove north, excited but suffering the effects of a tough week at work. After more beers than hours’ sleep the alarm shouted. ‘Jubbly`, Tim said and leapt out of bed, I followed, neither of us known for lack of enthusiasm.

Smith’s Route (VI) was given short shrift as the Allt Coire Ardair echoed to shouts page 10 of 25

of ‘Jubbly!’ and ‘Treeemendous!’. Ritchie’s Gully (IV) followed and we skipped down to the car with more ice screws than we started with!

The next day saw some friends and myself climb South Post Direct, this time with ice screws to guard the final crux pitch, and then a rush to Aviemore station to collect Katherine. After losing my car keys in the snow for half an hour, Missed the Post (V) followed, but felt more like VI, harder than Last Post, with a penultimate pitch belay of a half-in screw, poor wire and axes. Just the job for belaying my pregnant wife.

Next, Centre Post Direct on Easter Day. Rare conditions indeed to be climbing on Meggie in April, and the sun had done it’s work on the vertical crux pitch. The only safe ice was the steepest, it felt like cascading in the Alps again. Katherine huffed and puffed up the 60 metre pitch, removing 10 screws as she went. A party of three blokey males threw unguarded comments upwards as they waited to take on this awesome pitch. Later as we trundled down the Coire, we took a photo of the cliff.

Enlarging it, we saw three tiny figures half way up the crux pitch, one hanging on the rope. I looked at my wife - she was the Kat that got the cream!

On our final day, we set out for Diadem (IV): ‘A thin diamond tiara or crown’.

Brown and Patey had named it well, the initial pitch led to a corner filled with a runnel of the ice of your dreams, nothing too steep, great NMC County Climber

screws and good belays. We walked off around the whole Coire, passing the place where my brother and I nearly died, so easy in sparkling sunshine. The fence posts on the arête seemed impossibly close together. A different world. We talked as we ambled down from frozen white to autumn brown; Meggie, what a great place, a

hut to see what took our fancy. We had some ideas: Minus Two? Orion Direct ?

We settled on the latter, surveying the face from the shelter of the hut. Plastered with sticky snow ice, Alpine in stature, a complex expedition sporting the longest route description in the guide. Reaching into my sack to extract mine I

Chris Morish on The White Line (III) with blue sky Ben Nevis

great name….what about Megan..??* April pushed on, the classic time for The Ben. Short on time but not enthusiasm, Jon and I hatched a plan. Up to Fort Bill, a couple of hours’ kip, and a hop up to the CIC Winter 2013

removed a hat, followed by gloves, then Merino tops and fleeces, but no book.

‘Mmm, small problem Jon…’ ‘We could make it up as we go.’

‘No.’ page 11 of 25

Just then an old university friend of Katherine’s appeared; there is always someone you know at the CIC Hut. A brief combined effort and we had memorised the route. Off we went, up 1200ft of unbroken ice. I had done most of the routes here, Astral Highway, Slav Route, and many others , but this seemed more serious, not too hard but some of the belays were less than comforting. In this branch of the sport you rely on your partner more than any other.

We met our guide book saviours at the top car park, their van too full to offer us a lift down the final section, but giving me a stitch plate found at the base of Boomer’s Requiem as compensation. We arrived in Newcastle five hours later, happy in our shared success.

The Ben remained the objective for Katherine and I, and the CIC continued to provide a meeting point for infrequently seen climbing friends. After a chat with Neil (last seen in our January Alps trip) we headed for Boomer’s Requiem (V). The famous crux pitch a wall of vertical ice well seen from the walk in to the hut, which Katherine climbed with alarming ease. I pretended my arms were not aching and my hands didn’t hurt.

The next day we did the main cascades near the CIC hut, early pregnancy sapping some of Katherine’s energy.

It turned out a fine day, fantastic late season ice flutings, thudding ice , running but stable...for now.

We drove home through a storm bustling northwards, NMC County Climber

rain bouncing off the windscreen, a feeling of deep satisfaction warmed us. I recall wondering if there would be another day.

‘Hi Chris’ ‘Hi. ‘ I had picked him up in Edinburgh and now, with May chasing the heels of April, we wanted to give the Ben a last shot . Again, late beers seemed like a good idea at the time, the forfeit paid during the walk-in. We opted for Goodeve’s Route/ The White Line, a III combo high in Coire na Ciste. Perfect ice , a quiet mountain; looking up I saw Chris on a white wall, sky above, a distant silent aircraft’s vapour trail dissecting the blue.

The next day we climbed at Kyloe , busy and friendly , pale hands heated by the late spring sunshine. Forty days on ice, a good season, so I guess life really does begin at 40!  (*Editor’s note: Megan Horsfield was born on 25th November, weighing it a spritely 6lb 14oz – congratulations to Kat and Al!)

B Gully Geoff Dutton

We shall leave it as B Gully, and not name the hill it defaces. To say more would endanger the innocently curious; few people would otherwise find it, and only the Doctor would look for it.

What it does in summer I don’t know, and don’t care. It probably breeds rabbits. In winter it drives one to theosophy or astrophysics.

Winter 2013

That New Year the Apprentice, the Doctor and I had gathered some excellent high grades in the Western Cairngorms. The Apprentice found them relaxing after two days with the Weasels, wintering summer VS’s on the Ben. The Doctor, no mean performer on ice, had led several hard pitches and was high for the last day.

However, the night before, it blew and snowed so arctically that we resolved to go home. But the morning radio reported no road at Dalnaspidal or anywhere else; so we resigned ourselves agreeably to an extra day’s climbing. But where?

The southeast wind had filled all the northerly gullies and they lay together in the cold morning sun hatching powder-snow avalanches, joining wicked hands and waiting for us. We turned to the less intelligent hills opposite. A huddle of bent and balding brows.

‘That wind should have cleaned out Beinn…..‘ pronounced the Doctor (naming the unmentionable hill) ‘and both its gullies. I read somewhere that Gully B is an easy snow walk with fine views south. We could have a pleasant gentlemanly stroll up it and watch for the ploughs coming through.’

We were not enthusiastic.

But he had been robbed of a final good lead so we assented. Beinn X was blunt, bad-tempered scree, a dreadful slagheap of windblasted icy detritus; yet its two distant gullies blinked harmlessly enough. We headed for Gully B, through page 12 of 25

snow-dispensing Sitka spruce. ‘Still,’ remarked the Doctor, when we thankfully broke clear, ‘they add a touch of difficulty to an otherwise easy day’ – his usual, and usually accepted, invitation to Fate. We wiped our necks dry and followed a welcome path past a shepherd’s cottage to the hill itself.

cursing his bobbing head. We were climbing into, not up, the gully.

‘Don’t’ worry. A softish patch. A mere Aeolian aberration – due to that big rock –‘ and he waved his axe towards the uniform scree slope on our right, which faced the equally uniform one on our left. ‘We’ll soon strike

The gully began mildly

enough. Its snow was hard and its angle slight. The jaundiced eye did note, a little way up, the whiter whiteness of deep new snow.

The Doctor disagreed.

‘Never, in a wind like last night’s. All the loose stuff’s been blown to Lochaber.

Look how there’s none on the scree.’ He was still enlarging upon this certainty when he began to diminish. He was progressively entering his footsteps. We waded after, NMC County Climber

bottom again.’

And he ploughed on, treadmilling determinedly.

No bottom could we strike. It was wrapped in eiderdown.

We climbed through an endless sleeping bag. The floor could be stamped to some quiver of stability; front and sides fled from our grasp, and fell in again behind.

Loyally, we underwent an hour or so of this. The Doctor, ahead in the burrow, Winter 2013

kept promising an eventual excellent view of the snowploughs; an inducement we considered insufficient and, increasingly, improbable.

Then a mist came up from the strath; and our floundering lost any trace of relevance. We were isolated in space, each performing a private

inexplicable penance. Up, down, up, down. Down, up, down, up. Om mane padme hum.

Nothing could we see but occasional toiling pieces of ourselves. The environment had abdicated. Its ghost hung around in a thick flannel of expectancy. No doubt some Beatitude was preparing.

Sensory deprivation is, however, unsuited to the impure, and our unemployed page 13 of 25

reflexes became restive. We spoke to them severely. But they prevailed. Nirvana would have to wait.

‘I’ve had enough of this bloody place’ roared the head, shoulders and one arm of the Apprentice. Another arm, ectoplasmically dim, floated above him in vague Blavatskian deprecation; it repeated the Doctor’s familiar assurances that rock would soon appear and that the view would be good. It withdrew and faded, exorcised by pulverising oaths from a demi-head sable, couped at the neck, issuant from an infinite field of argent.

Beinn X is only two and a half thousand feet at the worst, but to continue would disperse ourselves further into a dubiously-heraldic spirit world. B Gully under these conditions – probably under any conditions – is not the Eightfold Noble Path. It was not any sort of path; and to descend proved as baffling as trying to go up. Merely to stand still in suich a whiteout entails much geometric unhappiness; the dimensions crowd round and leer unpredictably. They push back from in front and shove from behind. You inevitably fall. Our drunken progress down a thousand odd feet of this non-Euclidian picketing may be imagined.

We tried occasionally to escape from the side. During one of these time-consuming excursions the Doctor sang triumphantly ‘A rock! A rock! At last! We’re there!’

And he carefully stepped on a small black triangle and pushed himself upwards.

Then we knelt and pulled him out. He had stood on his own NMC County Climber

glove, dropped the moment before. The glove had, of course, vanished for ever into nether whiteness. We spat out snow and continued. B Gully had no sides any more; they had slipped, like the rest of our once so solid and Newtonian Beinn X, into a boundless continuum of uncertainty.

It was, in fact, impossible to measure in advance in any direction. We began to sympathise with Einstein.

The compass, and the Doctor’s much-consulted but equally equivocal clinometers, tended to believe we were going down; yet small objects (borrowed from one’s companion), when thrown ahead to prove this, would stick in mid-air; or annihilate themselves suddenly and permanently despite apologies. The Doctor aimed bearings from behind; but they never reached us. He blamed the Heisenberg principle. We suffered, in fact, most of the New Cosmology. Only a Black Hole was missing. It came later.

We swore we were going down. The air felt more still, and last night’s snowmeringues loomed increasingly confectious. We became convinced we were descending a steep, sheltered and previously unseen branch of B Gully. Such unexpected fluvio-glacial gorges ferret these lower hills. We roped up and followed the Apprentice’s erratic thread through piled hallucinations.

The Doctor, at times disconcertingly below us, acted as anchor; he was our longest peg. But no steep pitch fell away beneath; whenever we imagined one, Winter 2013

the Apprentice’s torso would surmount it into space, a rising kite tight in our fingers.

It grew dark; but still no communication from Scotland. We leant against each other. We were lightheaded from weltering in abstraction; our hemispheres had drifted up. We argued about the existence of torches; each assumed somebody else had brought one (only a gentlemanly stroll....). We would have to bivouac until this hopeless mist cleared up. The Apprentice, cursing dully, plunged his fist into the wall of snow before him to test its howff-forming potentiality.

His howls and fragmentary dance testified the negative.

Solid. Obviously ice. We had struck it al last. We were in a gorge. At a steep part. The ice appeared to rise above us; therefore it presumably stretched below. We collected ourselves. We smelt avalanches. I gathered the rope, and the Doctor, hovering beyond my shoulder, divested himself of legs and dug in. The Apprentice leant forward, sniffing cautiously, tapping with the point of his axe.

Suddenly there was a thump and a dull crack, and a black line appeared across part of the wall; a fringe of dislodged snow trickled down it.

Windslab! Windslab and powder snow.......This, then, was it.

‘She’s going!’ croaked the Apprentice, snatching back his axe. The Doctor drove himself in, together with his comment, up to the hilt, and vanished from sight. I hauled on the rope and fell back into feathers, feet plunging. The page 14 of 25

Apprentice, as he later described it, was plucked from his steps and flung outwards and upwards.

We wrestled, clutching the rope, our only reality. It clutched back. Blows demolished my breath – we were over the wall – or was it the Doctor’s boots? A rush of silence.....I imagined myself falling, falling, in the caress of a powder-snow avalanche, towards rocks or suffocation.

Then it seemed as if I awoke. ‘Good Lord’ said the Doctor, just above my ear. I clawed away snow. I felt myself carefully.

Surprisingly I could sit up, though it was painful. We must have stopped; but we might never have moved. In front was an apparently identical ice wall, again with a black split across it.

But the creaking and tearing was louder this time, and the split widened, jerk after jerk. We heard tinkling, as of ice, into the abyss beyond. We were about to be swept down the next step of this appalling stairway. We grabbed the rope again; and waited.

But the split grew wider, until it was almost a regular square. A black square. Our long-bleached eyes drank it with fascination. Black.

Square. Hypnotised, we wrapped the rope round our arms.

NMC County Climber

And them, incredibly, the square slowly filled itself; and presented us – with a Human Head. A large human – hairy and whiskered – head gazed at us from the square.

Its eyes glinted in the halflight.

The head spoke. With deliberation.

‘Ye’ll be the fellies that went up the hill the day?’

Silence. ‘Aah’ replied the Doctor, the only one with a biddable larynx.

Jim Rigg wading up his own version of ‘B Gully’ (top of Deep Cut Chimney, IV/4, Glencoe) (John Spencer)

I groaned. This was Concussion; or worse.

Maybe, The Other Side.

Letting go the rope with one hand, I rubbed snow round my eyes. It was still there.

‘Good Lord....’ repeated the Doctor, perhaps appropriately.

Winter 2013

‘Well, then; jist ye come roon to the door; an I’ll let ye in. It’s awfy deep, like; oot there at the back. Wait now; til I pit on the licht.’

The head withdrew. And almost at once the square blazed forth. Fiat lux. It was page 15 of 25

not St Peter. It was not The Gate. It was not even a Black Hole. It was somebody in a cottage. The cottage was snowed up at the back, it was whitewashed and, as the Apprentice had painfully demonstrated, it was built of sound local granite. There had been no avalanche, and we had fallen only in our own estimation.

We rose and followed the rope to the Apprentice, who had been buried and been half strangled by our earlier presence of mind; pulled him up, brushed him down, stifled his questions and propelled him towards the approaching torch.

‘Come awa in; come awa in. I jist couldna get yon windy open; an noo the gless is creckit. Pieces aa owre the flair. Michty; where hae ye been? Aa snaw? Ye’ve come doon the burn; that’s what ye’ve done; richt aff the hill.

But; ye’d like no see the road.’

We dripped beside a roaring fire, clutching hot sweet tea and new made bread. Frying hissed wonderfully behind us.

We gathered that there were only two places on the hill where snow always collected, B Gully and the burn that ran down from it directly to the shepherd’s cottage. The cottage we had passed that morning. The burn, it seemed, was the usual place to find the more stupid sheep in weather like this.

‘But, I’ve niver had three o’them at ma back windy afore!’ exclaimed the shepherd, genially enough, pouring out drams for each of us.

NMC County Climber

We thought it best not to comment. Later, perhaps, the Doctor might describe how he had steered us straight to supper. Just now, he studied his whisky. We had begun hesitantly to discuss the hazards of lambing, when the shepherd’s wife called us to the table. Plates steamed, chips stretched themselves expansively on top of bacon, sausage and egg. ‘And so it’s Mr McPhedran you’re knowing’ she said, naming the shepherd who had been our host on the Craggie expedition. ‘He marches with us. A great man, Erchie, a great man.’

‘Remarkable, remarkable, mmm, his fiddle has, mmm, remarkable bite and drive’ agreed the Doctor, munching affably, wielding his fork, and conversation was launched down the channel so tactfully provided.

(Originally published in the Scottish Mountaineering Club Journal and reprinted with the permission of Baton Wicks Publishing.)

Dreaming of Wild Turkeys: being a selective account of a rock ‘n’ road tour of the western USA August – October 2013 Bryn Roberts

In late 2012 the idea of returning to the amazing landscapes of the American West began to form. Kenny wasn't about to wait until retirement so took 2 months’ unpaid leave. Sarah Winter 2013

(Überschnell) was a late addition to the team, joining up with the two old men in Denver, for three weeks’ climbing in Colorado.

It has to be said that the trip wasn't all beer 'n skittles. An illness for Kenny early on had us grounded in motels in lowland California for a week. A pulled (torn?) muscle in my arm, just as we were getting into form at Tuolomne, put me out of serious climbing for the middle part of the trip. When Sarah arrived in early September she brought with her the '100 year rains' which sent torrents of water down the canyons and flooded towns on the eastern side of the Rockies– we holed up at Scott's in Boulder and eventually 'baled out' and headed back west to the desert. And finally – amidst the budget crisis in early October, the US Government, in its wisdom, closed down all the national parks, which enforced another major change of plan - stories of armed rangers at the gates of Zion preventing walkers and climbers from (doing what? enjoying themselves??!) entering the park.

But, aside from the above calamities, the mountains and deserts of the western States provided us with some tremendous climbing, exploration and photographic opportunities. Three areas stand out for me as highlights: Tuolomne Meadows, California We visited several major venues for granite climbing including the immaculate and photogenic pinnacles and page 16 of 25

domes of the Needles in the

windy, shady, semi-Alpine

stand-out area of the western

Kenny on The Hobbit Book (5.7), Tuolomne Meadows

High Sierra and the sunny, south facing slabby walls of Little Cottonwood Canyon near Salt Lake City. But the pick of the bunch for me was the wonderful domelands of Tuolomne Meadows in the high country of Yosemite National Park.

West Country (5.7) on Stately Pleasure Dome provided an excellent intro to the joys of Tuolomne cracks and run-out slabs, surpassed two days later by South Crack where I was satisfied I had done the crux 5.8 crack pitch until Kenny led through, with one bolt for protection, on the long and lonely upper slab pitch. In between these routes we headed for The Hobbit Book (5.7), a very prominent 4pitch corner/crack on Marialloume Dome – a NMC County Climber

experience high above the surrounding domes and pine forests. We then went for another Tuolomne classic – West Crack (5.9) on Daff Dome – and as I led through the awkward overhanging cracks of the second pitch the muscle in my upper arm/shoulder pulled; Kenny managed to rescue all the gear and we rapped off..........

Shortly afterwards we escaped east over the Tioga Pass (as forest fires closed the road west) to sample the 100 degree Fahrenheit (and some!) delights of Death Valley.

Moab, Utah The high desert of the Colorado Plateau is a magical place. It's different to anything we can experience in Europe, and for me is the Winter 2013

States because of the quality of its landscape and culture.

We visited the desert town of Moab twice, to escape firstly the rains of Colorado and, later on, the cold nights of Little Cottonwood.

Wall Street, adjacent to the Colorado River, a few miles from Moab, is the ultimate roadside crag. Massive walls rear up from the roadside and most routes are single pitch cracks, corners and walls to lower-offs. The grading here, as in Tuolomne, is tough until you get used to the style of climbing. Kenny and Sarah 'enjoyed' days climbing on both sides of the river then headed for the classic desert tower of Castleton, where, by all accounts, the descent provided the major epic of the day. Meanwhile I overnighted in the Island in page 17 of 25

the Sky district of the Canyonlands, which overlooks a vast expanse of desert cut into by the Colorado and Green Rivers.

On our second visit to Moab we visited the spectacular canyon country of Indian Creek, an hour or so from Moab. There are cracks and corners for a lifetime here (if that's your bag!) including the classic Supercrack of the Desert (5.10) which Kenny had an admirable attempt at, before running out of gear and steam!

And the camping here was to die for – nestled in the shelter of Hamburger Rock looking out across the desert with the most amazing sunrises and sunsets, and the clearest night sky you will ever see.

providing climbing in every grade and of all lengths from single pitch to big, alpinelength walls.

But on descent of the 'wrong gully' after finishing Frogland, in Black Velvet Canyon, we had a great view of the 1000ft sweep of Black Velvet Wall and the incrediblelooking line of Dream of Wild Turkeys (5.10a) which was to provide, for me, the route of the trip. The route takes a logical line using some major crack and corner features with some interesting linkups across bolted slabs – a masterpiece of route finding up the sweeping wall. And, as with much Red Rocks climbing, walls and slabs which look blank from afar, reveal on closer inspection a plethora of interesting holds on the featured, weathered sandstone.

We enjoyed the multi-pitch classics of Frogland (5.7) and Black Magic (5.8) and Johnny Vegas (5.6)/ Sunflower (5.9) a combination of wall and slab which provided a 1200ft route and nightmare abseil of snagging ropes! We sportclimbed in the wonderful rocks of Calico Basin, and Kenny got his 'lead of the trip' in, on the superb wall of Breakaway (5.10d) in Icebox Canyon.

We made steady progress up the seven long pitches, with sustained 5.8 to 5.9 slabby walls and fingercracks and a crux 5.10a chimney crack with a boltprotected thin wall to the belay (which I freely admit to aiding!). But, as we lowered down a series of long, wellexposed abseils to reach the base of the wall in good time for an evening walk-out, I realised that this was a route which, for its situation,

Sarah at Wall St, Moab

Red Rocks, Nevada Red Rocks is an extensive area of sandstone canyons only half an hour's drive from the crazy environs of central Las Vegas. Delayed by the park closures, we finally made it for the last 8 climbing days of the trip, and holed up in a cheap motel only 5 minutes from 'The Strip'. Red Rocks is now recognised as one of the premier rock climbing destinations of the States – immaculate, hard sandstone NMC County Climber

Winter 2013

page 18 of 25

camera, a Tatras guide, and a belay device, and flew 36 hours later.

Arriving in Krakow on Monday eve left me 3 days to cross the mountains in time to get to the stag/hen gathering planned for the Thursday.

I managed to find a hostel overlooking the magnificent architecture of the Krakow’s Rynek Glowny Square. On quizzing the receptionist she told me about a couple of huts in the mountains, and a ridge traverse called the ‘Orla Perć’ (the Eagle’s Ridge). I sat up late crossreferencing between the map and the guide, and next morning boarded an early coach across southern Poland to Zakopane.

‘The calm before the storm’ Sarah and Bryn on the Flatirons above Boulder, Colorado

quality and name would stay in my memory for a lifetime. . 

A short walk to a long wedding in Paradise Lewis Preston

At least I had a map before setting off to cross the Tatras, unlike for the crossing of the Kaçkars in Turkey in 2011).

In all other respects, however, I was even less prepared this year: I didn’t really have a clue what route would ‘go’ for my plan to walk from Poland to Slovakia over the northern-most and highest peaks of the East European Carpathian Range.

NMC County Climber

There was really no excuse for this hopeless degree of disorganisation and ineptitude; the wedding invite, issued in February for the August event, had given plenty of notice. Martina and Adrian had met in Newcastle through the NMC and announced they would ‘tie the knot’ in Slovakia (Martina’s home) before sailing off into a Southern Hemisphere sunset to live in New Zealand (Adrian’s home) via a 3 month-long honeymoon trekking in South America.

Other NMC invitees were better organised and booked plane tickets, ferries, car hire and accommodation, months in advance. I got a last minute flight on the Saturday before the wedding, bought a Winter 2013

Day One - Solo on the Eagle’s Ridge Late morning, and I join a queue in the rain for a teleferique ride into the mists of the Tatras. The exit cafe was swamped with a mob of disappointed tourists queuing to go back down to escape the wind and rain. I shoulder my sac and venture out, and before long the wind blows the mists away as I ascend the flank, then ridge of Świnica (2301m). From the summit (chained) scramble, shifting clouds reveal glimpses south of a deep, lake-bejewelled valley with ridges and multiple spires spanning the horizon.

I exchange greetings with a party that then descend south by a series of chained pitches into that valley. I set off east, suddenly very alone on the un-chained descent to the knife-edge ridge I presume to be the Orla Perć. Before long page 19 of 25

I fairly romp along the traverse and up to Zawrat (a col) and consult the guide.

This is in fact the real start of the Orla Perc.

After my diversion it is now midafternoon and I hear panting voices: two girls followed by a man, finishing ‘Poland’s Cioch’ (Lewis Preston) the steep opposite I am exposed above very ascent to the col and stopping steep walls on an arête of to admire the fabulous broken and loose rock. My prospect south into the sac containing both Dolina Pieciu Stawow mountaineering and wedding Polskich (the Valley of the attire is overbalancing me. I Five Polish Lakes). They are realise the rock is unreliable Latvians and we chat before after some holds come off, they drop into this valley, leaving me teetering above heading for the hut by the the abyss on both sides. fifth lake.

I consult map and compass; my bearing is correct but it is possible I am on the Niebieska Turnia ridge, and the path is shown below multiple contours too close to register, even at 1:25000.

Turning, I retreat carefully back to the top of the chains, and, happy to be alive, drop pitch after pitch quickly to a traversing path. This has been invisible from above, and I can now observe the absurdity of the saw-tooth death-trap from which I have escaped.

NMC County Climber

I head up the Eagle’s Ridge and, owing to the late hour, enjoy a solo, adventurous exploration of this ‘Polish Cuillin Ridge’. After Mount Kozi Wierch (2228m), the ridge drops dramatically with an impossible looking wall beyond a huge gap reached by chains and iron ladder to the col of Zmarzła Przełęcz with a precarious perched boulder on a wildly sloping slab, Poland’s Cioch (see sketch). Interesting route finding follows, scrambling across and up chained walls Winter 2013

and chimneys, I maintain a self-imposed ethic to rock climb properly upwards and only use chains for quick descents, owing to the advancing hour. Later, after I have passed my last escaperoute col, I (almost) fell-run to the summit of Kozi Wierch (2291) just as evening mists swirl up and engulf the ridge.

I have less than an hour of daylight left as I locate the track off the ridge and descend out of the mist, two thousand feet by scramble and scree into the Five Lakes valley. By 8pm, at dusk, I approach a huge timbershingled hut.

There are crowds of people enjoying the evening air and light over the lake from the stone terrace. On entering the hut I am overwhelmed with more people, sitting in the timber-lined foyer, sitting on the floors to the rooms above.

I climb over outstretched legs to reach the queue at the reception desk. ‘Have you got a bed for the night?´ seems a stupid question. ‘Have you got some floor space in a dorm?’ is my next try. Again, a negative response. Then a lifeline: I’m told that when the eating is over, the dining room will be cleared of all tables and benches and there will be a free-for-all for a mat-sized ‘pitch’. I pay for my overnight and find my Latvian friends from the ridge who offer to include me in their plan for floor-space occupation.

After Polish stew and mulled wine, at 21.00hrs I join a volunteer gang to clear the furniture and then squeeze into a cosy slot between Latvian Kristina and a random Pole. Over my head, on a fixed wall-bench page 20 of 25

tower; I am singing (to myself) Richard Thomspon’s ‘When I Get To The Border’!

The mists clear momentarily to reveal the fabulous exposure of this previously hidden place above the world.

Looking south into the valley of the 5 Polish Lakes

barely 250mm wide balances an over-wide body, above him a short girl has formed a foetal position on the window sill. The hut has approximately 3 times its bed-space capacity. Simple logic: no-one gets up to go to the loo! Deep sleep ensues.

Day Two - Across the Border I am up at 6am and pack while making my own breakfast and drinks as the hut guardians struggle to feed the hoards. It is good to be on the trail, climbing steeply above the valley, lakes and hut before dropping into the next deep valley system to the ‘honeypot’ of Lake Morskie Oko, with a magnificent, Victorian-style hut-hotel. The guide states ‘the most beautiful lake in Poland with views of the highest mountain in Poland, ’. There is a gentle track leading up from a car-access from the lowland, and thus the tourists swarm, eat, drink NMC County Climber

and never move from the terrace viewpoint.

I circle the lake and ascend, sweating, to the upper cirque lake under the north face of Rysy and cool off splashing in melt-water. I head for a remnant glacier and gain the ridge above. I chat with returning climbers I had spotted earlier abseiling down a wall over a series of great rock overlaps in this expansive northern amphitheatre of Rysy. As the ridge steepens, chains safeguard highly polished rock steps and slabs. These are unnecessary for a scrambled ascent in fine weather, but could be a lifesaver for a ‘walker’s’ descent in wet or icy conditions. I meet and solo past nervouslooking guided groups, including a Geordie party, the first (almost)-English folk I have met since leaving the UK. My altimeter is showing 2400m as I enter the mist enveloping the final vertical Winter 2013

From the highest point in Poland (2499m) I descend southwards then up a short ridge to Rysy’s second (higher) summit (2503m) which is in Slovakia, conscious that I have not only crossed the watershed, but also the national boundary marking differences of language, ethnicity and cultural heritage, merged and stretched incredibly across the 101 years since the outbreak of World War I. On easier ground than the north flank, I am quickly down at the col Vaha below Vysoká, a Slovakian ‘guided only’ peak, which thus frustratingly, I cannot attempt and am forced to continue on down to the highest refuge in the Tatras, Chata pod Rysmi at 2250m, with daylight to spare.

This is a brand new shiny metal box, balanced on a (winter) avalanche-prone slope that has recently seen the former traditional timber hut swept away. The interior, however, is a traditional timber-lined, floored and ceilinged space with a gigantic log-stove the size of a bed, with a curtained and page 21 of 25

Walkers on the (chained) north ridge of Rysi

mattressed bed-deck betopping the furnace. The attractive 20 year-old’s welcome is as warm as the 20 deg C differential in temperature on stepping inside. In contrast to the previous night I am shown to an empty dorm, which only later accommodates half a dozen others, including friendly Monich and Tomic, who I had met ‘on the floor’ in Poland. Few, it seems, are crossing the border.

We enjoy a cosy evening with fabulous Slovakian fare washed down with beers in the warmth of the stove and the flickering light of Tilley lamps. Here there is no electricity, no water supply, no fuel (we are way above the treeline, and there is no helicopter landing-pad on the steep ground) and it’s a trackless boulder field by head

NMC County Climber

torch for the ‘long drop’ relief before bedtime.

Day Three - Descent, diversion and reflection enroute to the wedding The next morning after a solid sleep in a comfy, mattressed bunk I make an early visit to the airy shack for a ‘dump-with-a-view-todie-for’ (sorry, too much information). We resume our evening social over a substantial ‘buffet breakfast’ before farewells. I spot an old communist-era bus-stop sign on the steep slope below the hut, but not unexpectedly, the bus never arrives. What does arrive, however, astonishes me and answers the question ‘Where does all the fabulous food and drink served in the refuge come from?’. Through a gateway of Tibetan prayer flags, preceded by an enormous Alsation, plods a Winter 2013

white-haired old man (I guess three-quarters of a century old, if a day) with a Sherpalike load on his back, of 11 gallons (88 pints) of beer, containers and boxes of food, and a rucsac balanced on top!

I believe he is the refuge guardian and appears in a mental trance as he completes the last steeply sloping rock slabs to his 2,250m height goal.

Further down on my descent I meet a younger bearer who is struggling considerably more, and I fear for his life when his load (including a ½ cwt sack of potatoes) almost overbalances him on a series of polished and outwardslanting rock slabs with vertical steps into the corrie below. I down-climb the chained sections and pass sweating ascensionists as I head for the junction with the page 22 of 25

main valley below. Here I hide my sac in bushes by a waterfall at 1600m and head back uphill, and, released of my load, find myself fellrunning for pleasure to Velke Hincovo Pleso, the largest lake in the Slovakian Tatras, which is surrounded on 3 sides by a serrated ridge of conjoined peaks. The only accessible (without a Slovakian mountain guide) summit is Kôprovský Štít (2363m) which becomes my afternoon excursion. It offers a fun final ridge scramble and drop-away views into three valley systems.

I run back down the approach valley, retrieve and shoulder my sac, pass the tourist honeypot trap, Popradske Pleso (lake) and escape up to the yew and arolla pine grove hiding the Symbolický cintorín, a climbers’ cemetery. It has a lantern-topped, shingleroofed chapel, carved wooden crosses and memorial plaques inlaid to natural rock faces and boulders. It is a deeply moving place of countless connections and memories between families or partners with their lost loved-ones in these and other distant mountain ranges across the globe. I linger to read plaques, reflect on why we love to climb and explore, often at some risk, how it heightens one’s awareness of life, the marvel of existence, the beauty of the planet, the wackiness of individuals, and the gift (amazingly) of relationships with another.

I jolt out of the reverie realising the time: I have a wedding stag and hen party to get to tonight! I run downhill, off-track, through forested NMC County Climber

foothills, splashing through rivers and bogs to emerge at the ‘halt’ of the single-track railway. This shortly brings a

Arrival, welcoming arms outstretched from the wedding ‘couple’, guests from around world

88 pints of beer!

train so crowded I must stand all the way to the AustroHungarian monarchy’s, wooden-framed, richly decorated town of Starý Smokovec. An hour or so later we have coasted downhill to the town of Poprad, where I change to a train across the plains towards Hungary. I jump out at the nearest ‘halt’ to Martina’s family village of Arnutovce, finally reached by trekking across recently reaped fields bathed in evening sunset light.

Winter 2013

surrounding the fire-bowl, sparks heaven-bound, the week-long party is about to begin. 

page 23 of 25

Club Business

Remaining on the Committee for a second year:

Annual General Meeting

Ian Birtwistle

The main item of Club Business is the Annual General Meeting to be held on Wednesday 22nd January 2014 at 8.15 in the Lecture Room at Burnside College.

Ian Ross Ed Scibberas Peter Flegg Seeking re-election:

AGENDA

Gareth Crapper

1. Apologies 2. Approval of the minutes of the January 2013 AGM3.

Seeking election for the first time:

3. Matters arising

Note two places remain to be filled

4. Secretary’s Report

12. Vote of thanks

5. Treasurer’s Report

13. Any Other Business

Jim Aiken

6. Hut Coordinator’s Report 7. Guidebook Editor’s Report

Full agenda papers will be circulated to Members in the New Year

8. Change to the Constitution & Rules Rule 6 be changed to:

. 

 9. The Annual Subscription of the Club shall be £23 for Full Members.

Members aged under 18 and students in full time education will pay a reduced rate of £15.

(Note, the sentence about the first 2

years covered by first year’s subs for under 23s is removed) 10. Election of Officers a. President (elect): Ian Birtwistle b. Vice-President (elect): John Dalrymple c. Membership Secretary: Adrian Wilson d. General Secretary: Andrew Shanks e. Treasurer: Eva Diran f. County Climber Editor: John Spencer

Mr Vaughan in training; who needs ‘The Works’?!

(John Spencer)

11. Election of Committee Members

NMC County Climber

Winter 2013

page 24 of 25

The website includes various discussion forums, a photoarchive for members’ climbing photos, and online guides for most Northumberland crags.

Indoor climbing: £1 off the standard entry price at:  Sunderland Wall.  Durham Wall.  Newcastle Climbing Centre (‘Byker church’)  Climb Newcastle (‘Byker pool’) - Wednesday. nights only.  Morpeth Bouldering Wall.

Also winter season Wednesday nights at Burnside College, £5 entrance fee, open to NMC members only.

NMC Website The NMC has a very informative website www.thenmc.org.uk

NMC County Climber

 No Nobler County A history of the NMC and climbing in Northumberland.

Now ONLY £2.00 Hurry while stocks Last!!!

Contact Martin Cooper on 0191 252 5707

NMC Guidebooks NMC members pay a discounted price for any guidebook published by the NMC. Currently available are the following guides:

T-shirts Various styles of T-shirt with printed NMC designs and logo are available.

Order direct by contacting Ian Birtwistle 07828 123 143.

 Northumberland Climbing Guide Definitive Guide to climbing in Northumberland. £12.50 to members (RRP £18.95)  Northumberland Bouldering Guide The 2nd edition, £12.50 to members (RRP £19.95) For the above 2 guides add £2 P&P if required. Contact John Earl on 0191 236 5922

Winter 2013

page 25 of 25