MARTIN'S 2012 BLOG

Older entries 2011 2010

Jan 23: A Rough Ride with Rudolf - first winter ascent of an E2 on Beinn Eighe's Far East Wall

Jan 15: The Chancer - steep ice on the back of Cairngorm

Jan 4-5: Knackered Knights in Knoydart by Alex Moran - 34 hour winter round of the Knoydart Munros

January 23rd: A Rough Ride with Rudolf: After a seemingly interminable wait for a revival of mixed climbing conditions Murdo and I set out for Beinn Eighe late on a dark night which sent heavy showers of cold rain across the Torridon moors. Up high we had hopes of thick fresh snow, rime and ice, but the initial risk was of getting a soaking. "If we get one of these squalls, I'm for going back," said Murdo. He was not in best fettle after receiving a stern lashing from The Vicar in Coire an Lochain the previous day and had omitted to bring overtrousers. Luckily, we got high in the snows before any serious precipitation arrived and could look forward to improving weather through the day. We left our sacks as usual at the Coinneach Mor cairn and we descended under the morning mists to see a highly desirable coating of whiteness on the cliffs. Even the forbidding Far East Wall was rimed on all but its steepest prows. At this sight a simultaneous and involuntary lurch in our digestive systems sent us scurrying in in different directions in search of sheltered boulders. A stream of ice flowed down the bottom pitch of our main target, the corner line of Rudolf which is a summer E2 smack in the centre of the wall. No winter ascents had been recorded in the vicinity. Anticipating that protection would be lacking Murdo seemed more than content to let me lead this icy start. Sure enough the verglassed cracks were largely useless for gear. Even after persistent hammering of nuts and hex chocks, most slipped out with an outward tug. Happily, the gummed cracks gave some brilliant placements for my axe picks so that I always felt I had at least one secure point of attachment. Soon I was hitched to three anchors in a chimney slot below a big roof where the ice ended and the soaring corner began.

	Winter action on Rudolf (VIII, 8), Beinn Eighe Above Left: Martin sets out on the icy first pitch Above Right: Murdo prepares to surmount the roof on pitch two Left: Believe it or not, the next section was delicate; brilliant quartzite climbing on pitch three

Now was the time for some Murdo magic as he launched over the roof on the summer 5c pitch. Leaving his runners below foot level he laybacked off a thin torque and thrashed at some turf to his right. Suddenly there was a yelp and scraping and I was yanked into the air as he promptly rejoined me on the belay. His second attempt brought a moment of doubt. "A braver man would...." he muttered, and I thought he was going to baulk the moves. No sooner were the words uttered than he extravagantly bridged his right foot horizontally across the roof, in fair impression of ballet maestro Rudolph Nureyev. This gave him just sufficient respite to sort his axes on the best bits of stringy soil and pull through to success. Onward progress was not as rapid as I'd hoped and when the words "This is mental. If you thought the Needle was hard....." floated down I became seriously apprehensive. With one further fall Murdo reached a belay. I took two attempts to get past the roof then swung up the corner on amazing pick locks to the wide "Needle on steroids" layback crack. Somehow Murdo had laybacked this on his axe shafts. I took one look at the crack, noticed that the rock was free of ice and decided that gloved hand-jams would work here. Much to Murdo's chagrin I scuttled up in seconds. His jaw dropped. An epoch-making grade 9 lead had just been converted into a VDiff by an old man. It seemed wise to make a swift changeover lest I betrayed my enjoyment of the predicament.

The summer description posted a 45 metre top-pitch of 5b standard, and this started with steep but accommodating cracks and ice blobs. Another big roof forced a tenuous traverse left on smooth breastplates of quartzite. From a poor hook I had to impale a lonely lump of turf way out left and scuttle my feet across before my bodyweight ripped it out. With this achieved I felt sure the route would relent and, indeed, there was an abundance of cracks up the wall to the right of the corner above. I failed to register that this wall was in fact gently overhanging, and soon I was grunting from armlock to armlock in search of respite. By the time I had bridged back to the main corner daylight was fast fading and I was getting short of equipment. To make matters worse the corner was verglassed. Lacking a torch I had to belay within the next 20 minutes. Without good anchors we would be in deep trouble. Crisis, what crisis! A solitary slot under the next roof offered the sole hope. I made a hard mantleshelf into the niche and stuffed a sling down a constriction in the iced crack, more in hope than expectation. To my joy it slid 20cm down and emerged at the bottom - the perfect thread. Soon I was safely strapped in and Murdo's headlight slowly flickered towards me, accompanied by sundry protestations of being cold and fed up. His elastic axe leashes were getting tangled and my gear was stubbornly hard to extract. "I'm not enjoying myself; I'm just not cut out for this winter game" he moaned, and then threw some of his toys out of the pram by dropping a peg and runner.

There were at least 20 metres still to climb and I seriously feared that he would hand me the lead. I was quite wrong. Murdo Jamieson has the knack of transforming himself from whingeing brat to class climber within seconds. Such versatility worked to our advantage as he pulled through the roofs and powered up another series of corner cracks. At some time approaching 8pm the reassuring call came down that there were now some footholds and the climb was easing. Sure enough the top 20 metres extracted another series of arm-sapping technical 8 contortions, but being Beinn Eighe there was always another axe hook just within reach whenever strength or resolve wavered. I sung as sweetly as I could to help keep my concentration. "How could you sing classical music when you're climbing that?" Murdo asked. Considering that my tune of the day was "If You Leave Me Now" by Chicago it is clear that this young man needs some education in the Arts.

On reaching the top we were embarrassed to reflect that we had taken 11 hours to climb 100 metres of rock. Descent was a delightful antidote to our laboured ascent. We ploughed down the snowslopes at an unbroken canter and were back at the car inside an hour and half. Whatever the grade Rudolf is one of the best winter lines on the mountain and certainly the hardest of the ones that I've done. Maybe it would be Murdo's last climb before he heads down to Plas y Brenin in Wales to start an 8 month contract as a voluntary instructor. No doubt he'll display the broadest grin as he exhorts his fellow staff to get up to Beinn Eighe for some great winter climbing.

Beinn Eighe, Far East Wall: Rudolf 100m VIII, 8/9 ***: A superb winter route, very sustained and at the upper end of the grade. Pitch one climbed the iced crack left of the cave to a belay in a niche at the first roof (7; 25m; serious). The second pitch has a hard start (maybe 9), then climbs past wedged pillars to a layback crack which would be very hard if iced, before traversing 3m left to a hanging belay (20m). The top section was broken into two pitches. The first goes up to a roof, makes a delicate traverse into the upper corner, then climbs strenuously up cracks in the leaning right wall before regaining the corner and climbing to a constricted belay under a capping roof (8; 30m). The top pitch moves left past the roof with difficulty then follows the monolithic final corner to the top (8; 25m). Murdo Jamieson and Martin Moran 23rd Jan 2012

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January 15th: The Chancer: After two months of storms, during which Lochcarron had 53 consecutive days with measurable rainfall, we have enjoyed a soothing calm of blue skies and hard frosts over the weekend. Despite frustration that much of December's snow has disappeared, one must be an opportunist when good weather arrives, and in this spirit Gareth Maker got in touch wondering if there might be any ice about. Hell's Lum crag at the head of Loch Avon in the Cairngorms seemed a good place to start. This slabby face faces south and combines copious water flow with melt-freeze cycles to promote rapid formation of icefalls. Gareth and I walked over the plateau and down Coire Domhain on a glorious morning when hundreds were enjoying recreation on the slopes of Cairn Gorm. There were already several teams prospecting at the foot of Hell's Lum where some of the slabby ice routes looked tempting but decidedly thin. We traversed below the main gully line - the Lum itself - and to its left spied the icefalls of The Chancer, which were gleaming in the blue-green band of the spectrum that denotes thickness and strength. Despite some concerns about falling ice while the cliff was bathed in sun, we decided to get stuck in.

Above: Looking up the Lum with the icefalls of The Chancer on its left wall Right: The leader is caught struggling on the steep crux of The Chancer (photo Ewen Todd)

The Chancer is a short but historically significant icicle. It was first climbed by John Cunningham in 1970 using front-pointing with crampons and an ice dagger. This was the first grade V to be climbed by the new techniques. As to the use of an ice dagger I did once purchase such an implement in the innocence of my youth, but one trial on a small ice wall convinced me that it would be of more use for skewering a joint of meat than climbing vertical ice. Cunningham's lead is therefore all the more remarkable. To get to the icicle we first had to climb the crux step of the Lum itself. A party was in process of retreating from this 5 metre barrier as we approached, so I expected some trouble. Indeed, the ice on the pitch was watery, thin and brittle, climbable only with extreme deilcacy and a detached frane of mind. I headed up to a snug cave under the central pillar of The Chancer and brought Gareth up.

Leaving this nook it was wonderful to swing into a wall of solid bubbly ice, but at the base of the crux candle a steady stream of water was spraying over me and I decided to seek a line further left where a thin icefall dribbled down a wall. The wall was relatively dry and give a strenuous struggle, in the heat of which I placed all three of the ice screws at my disposal. Having reached easier slopes I now had nothing with which to make an immediate belay but luck favoured me and I stretched the last metre of our ropes to gain an outcrop of solid cracked rock up to the right. Despite an absence of communication Gareth knew exactly what to do when I tugged tight on the rope and followed with aplomb, even employing that ice climbers' secret trick of clipping in to his axe for a quick rest at the crux. A short wall and cornice of bone-hard snow brought us up to the plateau. The day had been short, scenic and engaging - just the ticket as we both prepare for coming adventures in Norway.

January 4th - 5th 2012: Knackered Knights in Knoydart by Alex Moran: Leaving the main road after Invergarry the rain seemed to increase in ferocity. We wound our way down the 22 miles of single track which ended in the small hamlet of Kinloch Hourn. The windscreen wipers intermittently revealed the last dregs of civilisation slipping out of view as we drove deep into the heart of the glen. It had been raining for most of the day and this, coupled with the snowmelt, was causing the line between road and river to blur continuously. Torrents overtook tarmac. It had been a long time since I had seen this much water pouring off the hillside and our immersion into this water world was completed where we finally parked and Loch Hourn begins.

Steve Walls and I had made a last-minute decision to seek some adventure before I returned to work and he got his head down to revision for exams. With the forecast looking so bleak it was hard to imagine getting much done, but the holidays were nearly at an end and we wanted to burn ourselves on something big before the return. We both realised that neither of us had been into Knoydart, mainland Britain’s great wilderness. There are few ways to penetrate this vast area. The road only reaches its eastern edge and the sea defends the rest. The only ways to unlock its secrets are by boat or on foot. This would be the ideal stage for an epic escapade!

We knew we were going to get wet; the question was just how wet. Having psyched ourselves up we left the car and quickly put our waterproofs on managing to only get slightly damp in the process. So the march began. It was 10km to the bothy at Barrisdale where we planned to stay the night before attempting the three Munros, and this should take us 2hrs 30mins; or so we thought! Silence descended along with the darkness but the rain didn’t let up in intensity. By now the water was seeping through the two pairs of waterproof trousers and my boots were beginning to fill up. The path wound round the edge of the shore moving away from the lapping waves only to climb over impassable sections of cliff and ford the rivers. Given the state of the rivers on the drive-in we expected some difficulty, but we were ill-prepared us for what we found at the first crossing point. The river was only 5m wide but was moving so fast that there was only white water visible. Moving down to the shore we found a slightly better place to cross and waded thigh deep to the other side with relative safety. The question of how wet we would get was answered; soaked!!

	Left: River Wading on the walk-in to Barrisdale Above: Fresh snow coming off Luinne Bheinn
	Above: Strong winds on Meall Buidhe Left: Ladhar Bheinn summit

Staggering on, the wind had now picked up and this only confounded problems as we were met with our final hurdle just 2km from the comfort of the bothy. There seemed no obvious place to cross this one. A bridge marked on the map must have been washed away and it looked as though you would be immediately swept away as soon as you stepped into the water. For some reason I was feeling particularly foolhardy and indestructible, and, seeing only 7m between us and the bothy, I decided to go for it at the narrowest section. This was a massive mistake. I was soon up to my waist, my legs were taken from under me and just got back to shore by the skin of my teeth, only narrowly avoiding the watery grave that awaited me had I been swept into the loch wearing full waterproofs and carrying a 13kg bag. What an idiot!! Taking stock of the situation Steve got the map out and we soon realised we would have to climb up the river bank to a point where we could cross safely at its source. This involved 500m of height gain and a detour of 4km. The rain and wind did not allow us any respite and after an hour and a half we reached the great bog where the river split into many streams allowing us to pass more safely. Right on cue, Steve’s head torch began to flicker and die; just what we needed! Luckily mine was quite powerful and we pushed onwards above the snow line to a col where we could just make out our final destination. Slipping and sliding back down the 500m to sea level we arrived at the bothy, 5hrs after leaving the car. The lack of a fire meant that it would be an almost impossible task to dry our clothes but we hung them up and got some food on. The luxury of having shelter from the rain was incredible and we sat steaming in our wet clothes, eating and sipping whisky before bed.

Waking at 6am from my waterlogged nightmares I could hear the wind howling outside. Tea seemed to be the best option and we sat in our bags brewing up. Morale was at an all-time low, the last thing we wanted to do was get into wet clothes and face the maelstrom again. One hour turned into two as we sat at stalemate with the wind. Finally as it grew light, we could drink no more tea and the weather eased. A frantic rush of activity followed as we shoved wet clothes on. Steve chanted “Hardcore, do you want more?” to get himself in the right frame of mind to force on his dripping trousers!

Morale took a U-turn and we left the bothy in high spirits. Soon were half way up the first summit of Luinne Bheinn. The weather seemed stable and we powered up to about 800m before a sudden rise in the wind speed forced a crawl to the summit. Being unable to dry out our boots our feet became very cold feet above the snow line. Any stop for more than a few minutes meant my feet started to freeze so perpetual motion was necessary. Meall Buidhe fell quickly but the wind tried its best to beat us back. Our late start meant it was three o’clock when we stood at the Mam Barrisdale staring up at our final hurdle, Ladhar Bheinn. The decision was made almost immediately to go for it; we hadn’t walked all this way to not get the three done! Estimating 2hrs 30 to the summit we set off at a ferocious pace, soon to realise that our legs were tiring. A steep climb to the ridge brought us into view of the impressive corrie as dusk fell. Pushing on up the ridge the snow became thicker and progress ever slower and more laboured. Thighs were starting to fade as we realised that the final 300m of ascent was going to take a lot longer than expected. Our head-torch beams probed the darkness looking for the relief of the summit which was seeming impossibly far away. Starting to stagger and stumble I was getting to the point of exhaustion. Luckily I could see Steve was feeling the same so no pride was lost in stopping for a much needed glucose injection and rehydration. The cloud was down as we dragged ourselves up the last 100m to the summit. We arrived at 6pm to see the lights of Armadale over Loch Hourn, a world away from our isolated island of snow in a sea of darkness.

Now for the descent! The map showed a narrow ridge northwards which would afford us a quick passage down to the corrie. However, the way down was unclear and cliffs surrounded us as we inched down the bullet hard 50° neve. Usually this kind of slope would not be too big a problem but I only had a pair of slip-on instep crampons with no front points, better suited to granny’s grocery trip on an iced pavement. Inching down Steve did his best to kick steps fro me, but it all felt very unstable and the safety of the ridge was not forthcoming. Quick decision-making was needed and we chose to go back up and descend the ridge we had ascended. I cursed my choice of crampons the whole way down, but it was a good call.

We were soon down in the corrie, and, after driving some more food into our stomachs, we marched the 5km to the bothy on the last of our reserves. We were walking out that night no matter what, so as we cooked a hot meal, packed our bags and Steve tended to huge blisters round both of his ankles. It was 11km out to the car if the streams allowed us passage. Feeling a bit more alive we started the walk with Steve hobbling like he had a red hot poker up his ass and was walking on hot coals! The pain was clearly horrific but being the hard man that he is no complaint was made and he set an intense pace for the car. As we approached the river, which had caused us so much problem on our way in, we discovered a small stream running under a bridge. The bridge must have been totally covered by the raging torrent on our way in. We finally arrived back at the car 16hrs after leaving the bothy. Steve’s feet were in tatters and our legs felt the burn, but we had escaped the forgotten peninsula with its three jewels in the bag. Driving through the night we reached our beds at 5am. In the 34 hour trip, car to car, we had covered 46km and over 4000m of climbing.

2011 Blog 2010 Blog

Director: Martin Moran
IFMGA and BMG Guide