Karabiner Mountaineering Club

June 2001 Other Articles

How We Gave the Virus a Kick in the Teeth

From 'Travels With My Uncle'
A Dormouse Production

The foot and mouth plague certainly has had an effect on the judgement and reason of particular individuals. Just before the outbreak, I was in Scotland with someone known as the Mad Hatter in a previous life. Although we were in the vicinity of Schiehaillion, the ascent of the mountain was dismissed by the above mentioned as a chossy pustule, not worthy of our attentions or energies.

So you can image my surprise when Keith announced only a few weeks later that he had just completed an enjoyable and successful day with Iain on this most wonderful of peaks. My theory is that, whilst the countryside is being ravaged by disease, the desperation and frustration experienced by the climbers and hill walkers has caused their opinions to become warped. So much so that if you can gain access onto any hill during these troubled times then its moorland bogs become objects of remarkable and pristine beauty and its rocky bits are seen as glorious shining temples. Thus are the transformation and beatification of Shitehaillion adequately explained.

Bob and I travelled north during the late afternoon and evening, stopping for tea at a fine fish and chip shop - the Ben Ledi cafe - on the main street through Callender. This establishment had originally opened as an ice-cream parlour way back in 1906 and was still in the hands of the original family. The later generations may be judged to have a more pragmatic approach towards the Scottish weather in contrast to the optimism of their ancestors.

Just north of the Bridge of Orchy, there was a temporary roadblock forcing up to dip the car tyres over disinfected straw so that the vehicle would not catch the dreaded pox.

We all met up at the Kinlochleven hut armed with the latest list of the mountains open for business and the 'comeback code' as supplied on the web-site of the Mountaineering Council of Scotland. With the devastation of the rural tourist industry this latter document perhaps should be re-titled the 'comeback please code.'

The conditions on the Scottish peaks two-thirds through April were a bit of an unknown to the assembled bunch although much white stuff could be seen on some of the tops. Some of the other hut dwellers were intent on ice climbing but the only decent conditions appeared to be above four thousand feet on Ben Nevis. Their half-past-five-in-the-morning start to get to the climbs before dark persuaded us to stick to walking; all rock climbing below the two thousand foot contour was still out of bounds.

On Wednesday morning, we drove round to one of the two large lay-bys west of Allt-na-reigh in Glencoe. These were designated access points furnished with disinfectant baths which the authorities asked walkers to use before and after their day on the hill. Other 'simple' requests included keeping away from animals so anyone wearing wellies would be under double suspicion.

Thus, after dipping our boots in the washing-up bowl of muddy water, we left the roadside and dropped down to the bridge across the rocky gorge of the River Coe. Our first objective was the Lost Valley hoping to avoid any recently rustled cattle that the MacDonald's had left around. The clouds were high although there were wintry showers hanging about.

Part way up to the valley, Iain and Keith had a disagreement as to which side of the stream we should take. Keith won and everybody lost when we ended up on some awful loose scree on the east slopes of Gearr Aonach. However, it would have been possible to retrieve the situation if the start to the 'zigzags' up the rock face could be found. Well! It would have been possible!

In the end, we traversed on improving ground to a point above the flat part of the valley. Here, we were surprised by a large herd of about forty deer which we avoided as well as the confines of the valley would allow, whilst our consciences refused to register their presence at all.

Further on, the walking became steeper up the reconstructed footpath until we reached the snowline at around 650 metres. The snow was easy-angled yet hard enough for crampons which we duly clamped-on. The slope became increasingly steeper as we approached the rim of the corrie at the lowest point between the Stob Coire Sgreamhach and Bidean. Here we met a Widnes-er from northern Queensland who had not experienced temperatures under 20 degrees Celsius since before Christmas. It would have been cheaper to stick his head in the fridge and stayed at home!

The cold wind made our stop on the summit of Bidean nam Bian hardly perceptible as we immediately started down the ridge towards Stob Coire nan Lochan. This ridge was the best bit of the day. The crampon points bit into the hard snow as we climbed down the sharply defined apex with steep drops off both sides. I reminded myself that I must not fall off to my left, west into Coire nam Beith, as that was still strictly off-limits, FMD-wise. We traversed the Stob round to the west and then back into its northern coire. The snow and ice climbs on the cliffs looked seriously off-limits, condition-wise.

We finished the day by descending the Coire nan Lochan valley back to the road and the welcome foot-bath as the feet and legs were feeling the effects of the prolonged enforced layoff. After two months, there were some tired-looking faces as well.

Next day, we considered a treat as reward for Wednesday's efforts. Bob drove us round to the car park below the Aonachs' cable car where we all put on our boots except Bob who tried to put on someone else's. Unfortunately, these belonged to a young lady and were around three sizes too small. Never mind, Bob did get the prize for most unusual fetish of the year! His prize was a trip to Kinlochleven where he retrieved his own boots and where the young lady in question had not yet missed them, so he was able to put them back on the washing line unseen!

In the meantime, the remaining threesome paid £6.90 return each and were whisked up to the 600 metre contour without any effort at all. Above, there were many people with bits of wood screwed to their feet, trying to keep on the piste as there were bare sections between the runs.

We avoided the down and outs by gaining a ridge to the left and east. The first section was unrelenting steep moorland but after reaching our first object the walking improved as we mounted a snow covered ridge up to the top station of the ski-tows.

Avoiding the wooden shed, we continued to follow the corniced rim of the eastern escarpment across the long, flat summit plateau of Aonach Mor - the beag of the two Aonachs. Over a kilometre south of the ski station we reached a slight rise supporting a small cairn which announced the top. Enhanced with a mottled cloud effect, there were fine views in all directions and especially the snow ridges of Carn Mor Dearg and the cliffs of Nevis beyond stood out well. There was no letup as we struck off to bag Aonach Beag - the mor of the two Aonachs.

The walk down the shallow slope to the intervening bealach was exceptional - easy walking with tremendous views over the Mamores and Glencoe hills to the south, all glistening in the sun and snow.

We received a rude shock when we started going uphill. Steep hard snow! We ensconced ourselves into a cosy hollow where we took lunch and put on our crampons. A young woman had confidently shot up Aonach Beag in front of us and we were still in our lunch spot when she descended back passed us. Her confidence had taken a serious knock; she looked quite fraught with anxiety.

"You definitely need crampons," she told us. She had no crampons and continued to kick her toe nails a millimetre into the hard surface whilst her face displayed all the apprehension involved.

You definitely needed crampons. The slope was very steep for a good way until eventually it relented and finally gave way to the top. Excellent! However, it was not long before we were climbing back down to the bealach, that long steep convex section giving rise to some anxiety even wearing crampons.

At the bealach, we bumped into Bob, this time wearing his own boots. A quick calculation predicted that if Bob climbed Aonach Beag he would not catch the last flying bucket at five o'clock, so he decided to turn back with us - that is, after his lunch.

We returned back over that long summit of Aonach Mor with its prolonged views. On reaching the slopes, Bob and I decided to risk death and destruction by walking down at the side of the pistes, parts of which were quite frozen still. We were trying out our instep crampons and, on some long steep sections, we were able to reach conclusions on their use in such conditions - only bloody just, mate!

I had not been on the Mamores for nearly thirty-two years so I persuaded my companions to accompany me on some of the eastern bits, now free of FMD restrictions. Disinfectant was available at the car park of the Mamore Lodge where we made our final preparations under a cloudless Friday sky.

From the lodge, we set off on a good track round to the north into Coire na Ba. Where it met the stream, we left the track for the narrower path up the corrie. As the hillside steepened, so did my little legs become more painful. I should not be allowed to have two months away from the mountains! In reality, the path was well-graded and well-defined with large zigzags allowing for a pleasant climb up to the bealach.

Here, we took a hard right up the much steeper ridge onto a shoulder of Na Gruagaichean. Well! It would have been a shoulder if a chunk had not been missing! On the far side of the gap, we encountered ice so it was time to put on our crampons. The last section to the summit was up a great snow slope - you could just imagine yourself to be in the big mountains! Brilliant stuff!

From this top, we descended a very fine ridge to the north-east. It was wonderful under the snow conditions. Furthermore, you could fall off either side - both were 'in-bounds' FMD-wise. Mind you, a fall would not be recommended if you wanted to enjoy any more memorable days such as this one. The climb up the next ridge on to Binnean Mor was not too hard and the fine summit gave us a satisfying climax or high point to the day.

We descended the mountain into Coire nan Laogh by nice soft snow and then annoying heather slopes to reach a stalker's track west of Loch Eilde Mor. From here, this track led back to the track we had originally set out upon first thing that morning. It was a very relaxing finish to our walk.

Back at the lodge, we went for a beer. No draught! Only cans! The owners had been caught out by the fickleness of tourist trade caused by that dreaded FMD - say it quietly and perhaps it will go away!

A Day in the Hills - Roger Dyke

Monday 25 September 2000

Arrived at Jesse's place near Deiniolen at 11, assuming we'd go climbing in the Pass. But Jesse had more exotic stuff in mind: off via Beddgelert to Blaenau Ffestiniog.

Jesse taught me to climb 30 years ago. I still remember being woken up at crack of summer dawn, and handed a bacon butty to eat for breakfast on the pillion as we zipped up the Pass on his motorbike to knock off some long-forgotten VS then get back in time for him to take a client climbing at 10.00.

As we approached Blaenau we realised we didn't have a guidebook with us, so into town to buy one. The Tourist Office staff [of one] had taken refuge in the café across the road, due to a total absence of clients. She explained the nearest place we would get a guidebook was Betws-y-Coed. OK - Jesse can remember the routes from when he used to bring students here from the Brenin, so we don't really need one. Buy yoghurts for lunch, then off to the car park up the narrow road: "Don't leave anything in view - this is a terrible place for thieves".

"Have you got your 9mm in that sack, Rog?" "Yes." "Good." Two minutes into the walk up to the crag, I remember my camera is on the roof of the car. Jesse takes my pack and walks on. I go back, grab the camera, and chase back after him. As I leave the car park, a police car draws in and its crew start questioning everyone in sight. Pretend I haven't noticed and bash on after Jesse. Catch up with him & the 2 packs at the base of the crag. OK, so who's fit? We are at Clogwn yr Oen, and that party of 4 is on Kirkus' Climb. Eat yoghurts and gear up. "Where's your rope, Jesse?" "In the car. I one 9 will be enough." [We always seem to climb on one 9?.] We pick a line which Jesse remembers he used to take novices up sometime in the Iron Age. It looks about Diff. Jesse takes the first pitch.

At 40ft, finding an awkward move 20ft above the only gear, Jesse does a neat reverse down to the gear and I go up and lead thro. [This reverse was by far the most difficult climbing done all day.] I then spend 10 mins fixing complicated protection with a tangle of nuts, krabs, and 5mm rope which would have looked good on the wall of the Tate Modern. It stays there while I make the move, then potter gently onward to a belay.

Jesse leads again, then I lead thro to a long ledge. The rock above is uninviting. Jesse walks off along the ledge to an obvious short corner and goes up it - to find a large slab with no possibility of protection in sight for a long way. He comes back, I go and look. Yes, exactly. What's more, it looks like we are about to have rain?. Good spikes around, so we will ab off: we're not proud. Doubled rope reaches down to?.nowhere useful.

Never mind, single it reaches to a point easily scrambled to from the ground. So we can just catch the party of 4 and ask them to lend us one of their ropes, by tying it to the end of ours. [We are definitely not proud, especially when it is about to rain.] "Good thinking" says Jesse "only one problem - they left while you were up there looking at the slab"

Ah well? the ledge we are on ramps down to the left, and then there is an easy scramble down to within a doubled-rope's length of the ground rising from the right. This is the way.

The only abseil point is a 15 inch wide, 3ft long finger of rock projecting over a vertical couloir which in Yorkshire would pass as a pit-shaft. The finger is accessible only from above. Jesse skilfully demonstrates how you can stand on the finger to put your figure-of-8 onto the rope, hang on to the tail of the rope with one hand, and lower yourself by the other hand over the side of the finger and go smoothly into the abseil. He vanishes down the pit-shaft. We check the rope will retrieve OK.

The rain starts, and I realise I have not abb'ed since I was climbing on Peak limestone years ago with Andrew Marsh - and he had to give me a top-rope then. The opening sentence of "Cooking at Sea" should have come to mind:- "If you are not already a proficient cook, at sea in a small boat in rough weather is no place to start learning." Pull Jesse's 8 up on the rope, rig it and triple check. Tighten helmet strap and assure myself that as long as I don't let go the tail of the rope, nothing can go spectacularly wrong. As long as the rope stays on the finger. "Are you OK up there?" "Yes, fine." I don't convince myself, still less Jesse apparently, as I notice him retreating yet further back from the line of fire. Try to remember how he lowered off so smoothly. Slide over side of damp rock finger: this would be difficult to do elegantly with both hands?. Whump. Not sure what happened, but I am now in standard free abseil position and can glide down gracefully, pretending I take this sort of thing in my stride.

Get home to find Sheena's email telling me I have been elected a Full Member. Are Full Members - even those over 60 - allowed such magnificently unsuccessful expeditions, on climbs that the rest of the Club would solo up to get to the start of the real route?

[Delving later into Ron James' super 1970 book indicated the route was probably Chic - a VDiff no less!]

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