The People

A recent article in a prominent climbing magazine on the important physical and psychological part a belayer plays in attempting, let alone succeeding, on a climbing pitch, got me thinking a lot about the friends that I've had the pleasure of sharing adventures with in the mountains, and the unforgettable memories. From the days when it all feels easy in the sun, to the days where the weather wont let you stand and the howling banshee tears at your face! And with large snow flakes falling outside the winter and the winter season now underway, it feels appropriate to doff my cap to the few! ..... oh and maybe a great opportunity to highlight the numerous emotions behind an expression..... excitment, apprehension, appreciation, fear, relief, pain, horror, luvin' it, I nearly died and get me the hell out of here! Some are easier than others to pick! Roll on another winter.... :-)

Centurion

Jim Higgins has retired from winter climbing, or so we all thought. So you can imagine my surprise when I got a text saying he fancied getting out for one day only, and was I up for Centurion?

I climbed this route in summer 5 or 6 years ago. Even back then, I remember thinking it would make an amazing winter climb. It was clearly out of my league at the time, but I've had the ambition to do it ever since. This was the first time that my abilities, climbing conditions, weather forecast and psyched partner had coincided so I jumped at the chance.

Jim on P1

And the didn't disappoint! Never desperate but constantly interesting, and what a line! Definitely one of the best winter routes I've ever done. If there was ever a route worth coming out of retirement for, it's this!

Me on the thin traverse on P3 (Photo - Jim Higgins)

Before and After

The Shelter Stone in winter is a beautiful, intimidating and fickle venue. After a few days of whispered plans and obsessive weather-watching, Jim and I found ourselves once again crossing the Cairngorm plateau in the dark, in the clag, on a bearing for this magical place. Approaching the top of Pinnacle Gully as dawn came, we dropped below the cloud and were greeted with exactly the sight we'd hoped for - gleaming white rime on the steep upper cliffs of the Shelter Stone and Carn Etchachan. It's in nick! We geared up excitedly and descended to the base of the crag ready to start up one of our dream routes - the Needle.

There was, however, one minor problem. It was warm.  For the moment, we ignored this fact. The lower turfy grooves were well frozen and had plenty snow cover, the upper section was plastered with rime and the middle section held more than enough whiteness to justify an ascent. Why should a little thing like temperature get in the way? Anyway, were were probably just warm from the walk-in - it'll be fine once we get a bit higher.

Jim on the Terrace, approaching our high point

At the start of the fourth summer pitch, we couldn't fool ourselves any longer. We were racing a major thaw up the crag, and the thaw was winning. We were both soaked and the crag's winter plumage was visibly receeding. The next pitch would have been close to dry-tooling (well, wet-tooling) and neither of us could justify going any further, particularly on such a classic route that meant so much to us both.

It was time to go down, but we'll be back...



... and after

Before...



The wind doth blow...

Malcolm on the initial icy groove

Three years ago I took my first leap of faith down Beinn Eighe's West Central Wall with Graham Briffett, intent on finding and climbing "Mistral", a summer E1 5b that saw its first winter ascent by the ubiquitous Davidson & Nisbet partnership in 1991. Our interest had been piqued by the relatively amenable grade proferred by the first ascentionists (VII 7) and that, to our knowledge, it remained unrepeated. A few weeks before our own sortee, another local team had drawn a blank under a large overhang, high on the third (crux) pitch. Graeme and I faired no better, following the same line but being unable to fit it to the guidebook description. I've thought about this route on and off over the proceeding seasons. After all, there are not too many routes that are of exceptionally high quality, are often in condition, but have not seen a second ascent after more than 20 years! 

Malcolm Bass and I had this weekend marked in our diaries for some time. Like me, Malcolm doesn't have the flexibility of climbing mid-week and so, with everything crossed, we made plans. The preceeding week had been stellar but, typically, as our play-date drew nigh, the weather forecast provided reason to be concerned. Gale force south easterlies are not necessarily a winter climber's best friend! We opted for West Central Gully and, as anticipated, it offered full respite from the icy wind scouring the summit plateau. On a wall where route names have traditionally paid homage to wind, it seemed fitting that I was heading back to "Mistral". 

Jim approaching the first belay

Malcolm gaining the fabulous belay ledge after pitch 2

Our ascent epitomized the dogged persistance often needed to claim the winter prize. A 5am start into an icy gale and a wayward ascent of Beinn Eighe's southern slope saw us reach the summit plateau almost opposite West Central Gully, with weary legs and a day lit sky which belied our early start. Inevitably our ropes then got stuck on the heart-in-mouth abseil down the dog-legged last pitch of Blood Sweat and Fozen Tears, requiring some jiggery-pokery to set them free. At last, by late morning, and having experienced highs and lows in equal measure, we were stood beneath the initial icy groove of Mistral. Following success or failure, this particular episode would have a moon-lit finale!

Jim starting the crux pitch 3

An efficient couple of pitches brought us to the fabulous belay ledge beneath the crux 35m third pitch on which I had failed three years previous. This time I took a more direct line slightly further right, heading for the smaller of two capping roofs with the final V groove clearly visible beyond. This was it! 

Jim high on the crux pitch aiming for the small V notch in the sky-line

The pitch was steep, often tenuous and hard won.I have to say it was the most sustained winter pitch I have ever climbed. What a belter! Pulling into the V groove belay was a particularly joyous moment for me. I even let out a feable squeal in celebration which is particularly unusual for this quiet man! As darkness enveloped us Malcolm displayed steely determination in seconding the pitch, even climbing one of the crux sections twice having dropped, then retrieved, his head-torch.

The happy couple at 9pm

We topped out at 9pm having finished up the Wall of the Winds chimney as per the first ascent (note - the V groove of Mistral still awaits a winter ascent).


As Malcolm later said, according to the new Yorkshire winter grading system the crux pitch was "reet 'ard" but, going with convention, we will suggest "very sustained VII 8" with the route definitely worthy of three stars. A memorable day!

Jim



  

Rehab on the Ben

After a nasty fall at the start of November, my ribs had pretty much healed and I was desperate to get back out. The second half of December seemed to offer ideal conditions for those able to get out mid-week, but was thoroughly disappointing for us "weekend warriors". Cabin fever was beginning to set in.

All that was resolved yesterday with a great day out on the Ben with Jim. We discussed a few options - Jim was keen for something a little more adventurous but given my weakened state, I didn't fancy a complete epic, so we settled on Sidewinder on South Trident buttress. Although this was only climbed in winter for the first time in 2005, it has become a popular route and is generally considered to be low in its grade (although the grade is VII,8). This sounded hard enough to be challenging yet easy enough to retreat from if I was really struggling. I'd also been impressed by it when looking across from Strident Edge a couple of years ago, and wanted to do it ever since.

Since the route isn't in the SMC Ben Nevis guide, we were relying on word-of-mouth and others' blogs for info. I had the impression that there was an easy introductory pitch, a harder middle pitch and a crux on the top pitch. In my weakened state, I suggested Jim take the crux (I could claim it was generosity, but it was mainly cowardice!). He led off up the first pitch, taking no time to reach the foot of a steep corner 30-odd metres above.

Arriving at this belay, I realised that I might have made a mistake - this looked a lot harder than I'd been hoping for! The crack in the corner would have accommodated perfect hand-jams in summer but required careful and strenuous laybacking & torquing in winter. I made several forays up and down the initial section, placing high runners and finding excuses to procrastinate. I knew that I had to commit to reach the security of a chockstone above, but my head hadn't recovered from the fall, and convincing myself to go upwards rather than downclimb to the security of the belay was a real struggle. Jim showed admirable patience, and eventually I managed to commit, reaching from a strenuous bunched position up to a solid hook around the chockstone above. Surely that was the crux done? Apparently not - a couple of metres higher, the exit from the corner onto the powder-covered slab above proved every bit as hard and a lot sketchier. The gear was good but it was doing little to reassure me. Again, I eventually convinced myself to commit. "Watch me!". A thin hook slipped then caught again. My other axe struggled for purchase in the soft snow. Finally, I grovelled onto the slab and crawled up to the belay.

Jim seconding the tricky exit from the corner

The pitch above was long and sustained, taking another corner then the continuation groove above. Jim put in an excellent lead to bring us to the ridge above. A tiring swim along this through deep powder brought us to the plateau.

Jim setting off up the top pitch

This morning, I have the familiar ache of shoulders, back and calves that always follows a good winter day. I also have the relief of knowing that I can still climb this stuff. It'll take a little while for my head to settle down fully, but my doubts that I can still enter the exciting and adventurous world of winter climbing, or that I want to, have gone.

Hung Drawn and Quartered!

Suddenly it was looking rather promising for the weekend ahead. The hallowed hills of north west Scotland were teasing, tantalising and, now, flaunting as first-hand accounts filtered through.  I haven't yet secured a partner. It's the SMC dinner and other "regulars" are already committed or out of action.

I'd met Ross a week earlier at Newtyle and, having exchanged numbers, it was with relief that his tentative response became certain. I had now secured a partner. Typically another offer came through shortly after which I had to decline. Sorry Roger, I'm sure you would have done the same!

Plan A was quickly shelved on learning of rain at 600m near Applecross. And, then, a text from Pete Macpherson suggested "Hung Drawn and Quartered". Rather than striking the fear of god into me I was inspired. Before now I had not had the opportunity to climb on Skye (summer or winter) and I vividly recalled Pete's photographs and tales from the second ascent of this fiercely overhanging crack-line, with Ian Parnell, in 2010. "The best Grade 8!" Pete enthused.  He would be prospecting a new route on Am Basteir with Martin Moran and we could join the party. Incidentally (or should that be coincidentally) it was Martin who grabbed the first ascent of this plum line in 2008, so we would be in perfect company.



Basteir Tooth (Photo - Pete Macpherson)

The walk in was a joy, if a bit icy underfoot, as the crisp dawn revealed the most stunning alpenglow over the Cuillin Ridge. The true extent of this spectacle was largely lost on me at the time as Ross and I geared-up close to King's Chimney, but Pete Macpherson's excellent photographs captured the moment. We couldn't have chosen a better day for my first route on Skye!

But was I fit enough, strong enough, brave enough?

Rather than give a blow by blow account of the route itself I will simply say that it was st-e-e-p, hard, intimidating and utterly brilliant. My arms surrendered in the final few feet of the third pitch, resulting in an impromptu belay and Ross leading through to complete the pitch in style. With the hardest climbing now behind us, I led the way to the top.

The line is kind of obvious! (Photo Pete Macpherson)

Many will sit in their comfy chairs in front of their PC and say that my ascent was flawed (Ross's most certainly wasn't) and, yes, I cannot claim a clean ascent. Failure? No, I won't accept that. At least I had the balls to try. I gave it absolutely everything and in the process I had an amazing day. True failure would have been not trying at all.


Did I say it was steep? (Photo - Pete Macpherson)

Nearing the end of Pitch 1 (Photo - Pete Macpherson)

 

 

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Contentment

When Neil calmly declared "this is unjustifiably dangerous" before lowering off an icy crux pitch on  Nocando Crack I understood completely. After several metres of protection-less, delicate and irreversible thin ice placements above an ankle (if not leg)-breaking ledge, Neil finally contrived a secure pick placement. With no immediate prospect of gear, his decision looked easy and pre-meditated. The rope was carefully clipped into a carabiner on the shaft of the axe and Neil was lowered to the safety of the belay. At least in the accessible Northern Coires gear retrieval is not a significant problem and on finishing up The Migrant, Harry and I were able to abseil back down and return the crag-swag to its grateful owner.



Risk and the associated adrenaline high has always been fundamental to my climbing experiences but as I age, life priorities are changing. Accentuated by my newly married status I am not craving the fear factor and I am more conscious of "unjustifiable danger" than ever before.

The fire is not burning as fiercely as it did through the last three seasons but, two weeks and two moderately difficult but excellent routes into the current early winter, I am reassured that it is still smouldering. I am not ready to fade into retirement just yet as I slip into contentment.

Today is a beautifully peaceful Sunday. I am more than happy to be at home with Shona (my life and wife) scavenging for fire wood, reading the papers, drinking tea, writing this blog and preparing for our roast dinner. Changing life priorities are delivering happiness and contentment in abundance. But make no mistake, there is still room in my life for winter climbing sufferance. Albeit more dilute.

First Impressions

We were clearly not the first to have walked this way in recent days. To tell you the truth, many others had probably gone before us this very morning. The powder white snow bearing the tell tale signs of a throng of size 10s. At least we now had the luxury of a half light approach on a firm trail, still, heavy legs and a building sweat excused the occasional interuption to our brisk pace. Behind us, the rising sun brought with it a magical south Cairngorm dawn; the clear sky reflecting the colours of its emerging warmth. I'd never before been here in winter.

People, I have heard, wax lyrical of the great north east Coire of Lochnagar. I've been here just once, a summer solo of Eagle Ridge, but it's in winter that the true majesty of this royal coire is felt. Dropping down from the Meikle Pap col I make a mental picture, as my eyes track the length of the Coire picking out guidebook lines - my expression of a first impression that will last a lifetime. It has been said that if the beautiful were not in us, how would we ever recognise it. I'd like to think there is some truth in that.

Jim

Take a Chance

"Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it" [Johann Wolfgang von Goethe]

Sometimes you've got to take a chance. If you haven't stepped up to the plate and given it your all, then how will you ever know what could have been?

Andy and I park the van in Kishorn and settle down for the night. Tomorrow we are going to live out a shared dream to climb The Godfather.

**************************************

We wake with the 5am alarm, but this doesn't feel like a glory day. Having left a frosty Inverness the previous evening under a perfect star-lit sky, the Kishorn night had been mild and wet. I step out of the van onto the boggy verge and squelch purposefully around the van as I take in the morning air and look to the hills. The sky is still cloudy and the temperate wind wafting over the Loch does not promise optimum climbing conditions. We will not be living our dream today.

***************************************

A brisk drive up to Torridon lands us in the Beinn Eighe car park at the wrong side of 6am. We are on the move by 6.30am as the sky clears revealing the stars we left behind in Inverness. Our dream may have been put aside for another day, but I am yet to have a bad day on Beinn Eighe. Looking across at Liathach in the blue hue of morning I am reminded of one reason why this is my favourite winter climbing venue.

Andy on the approach slope of Beinn Eighe,
with Liathach behind

Friends had climbed on Far East Wall recently, so I was optimistic that our efforts would be justly rewarded. As we levelled onto the frozen plateau, now glistening as the sun rose over the distant hills, I smiled. Contented. Relaxed. Liberated. Pressure free. Whatever we do today is a bonus. I love climbing here.

Once down at the base of the wall we are on the threshold of freeze and thaw. A flurry of snowflakes are followed by light drizzle.

We can see tantalising icicles in the corner line of Sundance but, before Andy has time to became engrossed in its entry pitch, the dripping ice wards off its suitor. Before too long the routes on this wall will lose their wintriness. We will return.

Eastern Ramparts are holding much more snow. This is where we will climb today. A quick look from a distance, in an attempt to marry route descriptions with the complex and confusing corners and roofs in front of us, and we settle on Rampart Wall. It is a 3 star Davison/Nisbet route and I'm sure it won't disappoint. The third pitch describes a tension traverse. Has it been freed? We do not intend to use aid. I'm sure we're not the first.

We must have started the first pitch a tad far left, but an awkward step down and across sees Andy safely at the belay. According to the guidebook, pitch two is the crux (but this assumes aid is used on pitch 3). Having thrutched through the initial flared crack, the fantastic continuation flake crack yielded to a more elegant style. I'm having fun.  The crux itself involves levering the full head of an axe into a horizontal break in the quartzite wall to the left; pulling round to the left; committing to a thin horizontal torque with the other axe; pulling further round to the left; hooking a crack line before heading upwards once more. Footholds are scarce, but I am soon back in balance and placing much needed protection. I'm pleased with my performance.



Andy approaching the capacious second belay



The belay ledge is capacious. A fine place to be and from which to enjoy the outlook. Two roped hill walkers ascend the snowy slope below and we acknowledge each other's presence with an elaborate wave. The hill is suprisingly quiet today. We have the wall to ourselves.

The walkers below take brief respite and fix their gaze upon Andy as he readies himself. "C'mon lad". Andy, your audience awaits. The initial crack is steep with a precarious "mantle" into a turfy niche. But this is dispatched with some degree of gracefulness and Andy is soon ensconced atop the pinnacle with solid protection in place. Perplexed, he looks up and then a couple of metres to the left, which is where he needs to be. As if struck by a eureka moment, Andy quickly slots the tip of one pick in a thin seam that crosses the otherwise blank wall. His second pick is placed alongside, in the same fashion. Without footholds Andy lets his full weight down onto his tools, the torsion in the picks holding them firmly in place. One needs to be released and placed further left. A precarious and strenuous move with no footholds to assist. The objective is clear - reach the vertical blind crack just over an arms span to the left. Feet cut loose and are swung high and far left. The left foot catches a good ledge. Pushing down and away on the right hand tool, the other is released and swung up and left to catch a shallow hook in the crack. It holds and balance is restored. The tension traverse has been freed. Andy's audience moves on. 

We lap up the remainder of the route which has now eased off in terms of difficulty but is still offering superb climbing. The sky is at its clearest and, on the final snow slope to the plateau, I can look out and enjoy the vista. I am reminded of another reason why this is my favourite winter climbing venue.



The end of another fantastic day on Beinn Eighe



It is just before 4pm when we reach our sacks at the Coinneach Mor cairn and pack away our climbing day. We've made extremely good time and it's a joy to relax in the late afternoon light. The sun is slipping behind Liathach.We stop briefly to picture the scene, then make our swift way home.

Darkness envelopes us as we march into the car park. My phone is startled into life with a text "Been thinking of you all day. Guess you'll be starting the night shift now". But our day is done. Not bold, but pure gold. 

"Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it"

We will look forward to experiencing the night shift on The Godfather another day.

Jim





    





A Vicar's Apprentice in the White Chapel

I slept badly. The gusting wind rocked the van and, as the lashing rain continued, I woke again needing another pee. The alarm sounded but I was already awake. It was 5.45am and the rain continued to fall. As I brewed up I was filled with a sense of guilt, knowing that Murdoch would have been needlessly travelling since 4am to join me.

We had arranged to meet earlier than usual in the ski centre car park and, true to his word, Murdoch arrived at 6.30am on the dot. Having exchanged pleasantries, our mutual expressions needed few words of explanation. The kettle boiled again and we settled down for another brew, occasionally twitching the curtain to try and catch a glimpse of our distant neighbours in the car park. Who, if anyone, would make the first move?

A few days previously the forecast suggested that Beinn Eighe might be worth a look. We both harbour ambitions to climb lines on its steep walls and, after a Cairngorm winter, the prospect of climbing in the north west is most appealing. However, reports of mild unwintry conditions filter through and Murdoch hasn't been well, so another short "Lochain" day is required.

"How about the Gathering - you can have the hard pitch", Murdoch had suggested in a veiled attempt to clinch the deal. I gave the thumbs up, knowing that on the day I could step aside and let Murdoch shine.  An opportune text gave comfort that the Coire was in condition and this led to an intriguing flurry of further texts as it became clear that a strong team from south of the border shared the same plan.

As the rain turned to snow I twitched the curtain once more and peered out of the van window in the direction of our southern rivals. No sign of movement. Murdoch and I finished our tea, grabbed our sacks and slipped quietly into the darkness. The wind abated and snowfall eased. Perhaps we will climb today after all!

As we geared up two figures romped up the slope to join us. "You must be Jim!" "Dave?" I responded, putting faces to names as strangers became briefly acquainted.  Though we had shared a common plan, they appeared happy to allow Murdoch and me to have first dibs at "The Gathering" (VIII 9) and they would have a look at "The Snow Pimp" (VIII 10).  As we approached the buttress, the cloud lifted momentarily revealing its full height. It was white with rime but, on closer inspection, we found that the cracks were icy. This would render our rack of camming devices ineffective and, knowing that the first two ascents used these for protection, we made a swift call to opt for our back-up plan.

"The Vicar" an old-school Lochain test piece is graded more moderately at VII 8. However, lest you forget, this is the Cairngorms and the Vicar has a reputation that has not diminished since it's first winter ascent in the early 1990's. As the cold wind picked up, our eyes traced our intended line up the steep white wall. Having been vilified in the last week for publicy voicing my criticism of winter routes being climbed in their naked, summer, form there could be no debate today. This was going to be a full value Scottish winter experience.



Me on the direct first pitch of The Vicar (Photo: Murdoch Jamieson)



When Guy Robertson, Pete MacPherson and Greg Boswell climbed the outrageous "Siberian Tiger" (IX 10) earlier this season, they opened up a new direct line to the second belay of "The Vicar" before breaking out right around the arete into more desperate terrain. At a suggested grade of VII 8, we wanted to climb "The Vicar" in two pitches with this new direct start.

What a pitch! Although I was fighting cold hands throughout (lesson learnt - technical, close fitting gloves are best reserved for more benevolent conditions) I managed to climb the pitch cleanly before belly flopping onto the airy belay ledge. I would suggest it is towards the lower end of the grade provided by the first ascentionists, given that the main Vicar pitch (at the same grade) is considerably harder. Nontheless, what a superb pitch and a fitting direct line for the Vicar.



Murdoch following pitch 1, the new direct start to the Vicar



I was travelling light, sans belay mitts, and I was already beginning to regret this tactical misjudgement. My spare gloves were not as luxurious, still they would hopefully restore some sensation to my not-so dexterous digits. I bit my tight glove to remove it from my hand. It wouldn't shift. I bit harder and pulled more firmly. Feeling a sharp pain in my finger tip and knuckle I let my hand fall. My finger was so numb that I hadn't realised that it, together with my glove, had been between my teeth!

Prior to the addition of the direct start, this route was all about the top pitch. But Murdoch was in muted form and not performing at his best. "Come on lad, pull yerself together"! The first few moves are awkward and Murdoch doesn't quite get it right. There's a feeling of resignation in the air as he comes to rest close to my right shoulder. But he's straight back on and appears to be back to his old (well, young) steady, methodical self as he careful unlocks the sequences. But then, unexpectedly, he's off again as a tool placement pops whilst faffing to untangle some gear. No shouts of rage, just an acknowledgment "I'm not psyched and really not enjoying this". But on he goes, cleaning a way forward until he is stumped. "I can't see where it goes". I'm sure it breaks goes out onto the arete on the right, but I don't know at which point. I am anxious not to lead Murdoch into uncertain territory.



Murdoch leading the top pitch of the Vicar,
as my camera struggles with the conditions!

 Mentally rather than physically tired, he moves back left and joins the route "Nocando" at its finale. Bearing in mind Murdoch had climbed "Pick n Mix" (XIII 8/9) the week before, he proclaimed "The Vicar" to be the hardest route he had been on this season. Full winter, rather than favourably lean conditions will go some way to explaining this. But make no bones about it, "The Vicar" is hard!  Sadly I cannot claim to have climbed it. Frozen hands from the start and an extended period of belay duty without food put paid to any realistic attempt of climbing this pitch in good style. As I hauled my way up on the gear Murdoch had placed, bearly keeping my fingers curled around the handles of my axes, I was conscious that the route deserved better. For us both, our ascent was tinged with disappointment in how we performed on such a stage. But time brings some perspective.

Today, as I reflect, I am tired and aching more from our "short Lochain day" than from any other time this season. Yes, yesterday was a tough, challenging day. It was a full Scottish winter experience on an incredible route. I'm happy.

Jim

Same Old Venues?

 Rather against my better judgement I recently showed a passing interest in an online forum posting entitled "Same old Venues". In this thread I challenged the notion that "all blogs are the same - same people, writing in the same style about the same things, at the same places."

The motivation for this particular blog came from some genuine interest that was being shown in what a small group of low profile climbers had been doing over the last couple of winter seasons. Often away from the madding crowd and at a respectable level of difficulty, we had stories to tell and experiences to share. So, this blog provides the platform for us to reflect on our adventures, achievements and failures. A collection of scribblings that portray a personal perspective on shared experiences.

Now, back to the theme of that forum posting. It infered that too many climbers (the majority?) were too short sighted and lacking in ambition and/or originality to venture further afield than the Cairngorm Northern Coires (Coire an t-Sneachda and Coire an Lochain). I'm absolutely certain this is a wild generalisation but it is the case that these venues are undeniably popular. And for very good reasons.


Jim on the first pitch of Bulgy
(Photo: Andy Inglis)



After a week of weather and festivity induced relative inactivity, the forecast for the eighth day of Christmas was promising enough for me and Andy Inglis to make plans. Of course by "promising" I mean that it was forecast to be sub zero and not raining! With a strengthing south westerly and blizzard conditions I would have ordinarilly chosen to stay at home and drink tea, but nearing the end of my ten day break from work and nil climbing returns I was willing, nae desperate, to do something. Having regard to the forecast, a short day in the east would be in order, and Coire an Lochain fits the bill perfectly. This would be my third route there (having already climbed Savage slit and Ventricle) from my total haul of seven routes this season and I could be accused, justifiably perhaps, of falling into the trap of going to the "same old venue". But I would disagree. 



Andy following pitch 1 of Bulgy



My climbing plans are usually informed by a desire to do certain routes, a desire to climb in certain locations, availability of partners (and accomodating there own ideas), prevailing weather and general conditions. Living in Inverness provides me with the luxury of being roughly equidistant  from the north west, Lochaber, or north Cairngorms. Out of choice I have tended to avoid the east. But this season, unlike the previous two seasons which were dominated by high pressure systems and sustained periods of stellar conditions throughout Scotland, the weather patterns are pushing me to the east and the accessible north Cairngorms.

Now for me this is a problem, as I cannot seem to come to terms with climbing granite. I am a gritstone rock climber through apprenticeship. In summer I can shape my fingers, my body, my footwork to work with (rather than against) the often rounded and holdless rock. On the granite (which is'nt too far removed from gritstone in its characteristics), in winter, I'm clumsy. My footwork is inept and I struggle to seat my axes securely in rattly cracks.  I am not significantly weaker than some top level winter wads I know, but the difference in our winter climbing abilities is staggering. It is down to technique and no where does this show itself more than on Cairngorm granite. Some people are naturally talented and some have acquired their ability through a long apprenticeship. Right now I feel like I am in the early stages of one of Thatcher's YTS schemes!




Is this acceptable? Climbers on an out of condition "Auricle"

 On reaching the Coire in a spindrift hell, Andy and I were disappointed to find that our primary objective, Ventriloquist, was not in condition. In fact the whole of Number 1 Buttress was black as the dry SW wind had left it rime-free. Sadly, as evidenced by the photo opposite, our perception of what is acceptable winter condition was being challenged by two chaps struggling their way up Auricle. We decided to head over to Bulgy (VII 7) on Number 4 Buttress, which was looking very wintry but relatively sheltered. Mistakingly thinking a single pitch would take in the crux I had geared up ready to take the spoils. But in the end the honours were handed to Andy who led through the bulges of the second pitch in excellent style. Proficiently and without pomp or circumstance. I followed, finding the climbing to be a little more secure than its distant appearance suggested. Never desperate, with a proliferation of positive breaks for the feet (unusual for the harder 'Lochain routes) this was a confidence boost that I needed.

I have many winter climbing aspirations in less well trodden Coires of the Scottish Highlands and hopefully I will have the opportunity to realise some of these this season. But, when conditions and circumstances dictate I am also content to make the most of what is on offer in the "same old venues" and continue my Cairngorm granite apprenticeship.

Jim