County Climber Summer 2017 by The Northumbrian Mountaineering Club

Summer 2017

County Climber Magazine of the Northumbrian Mountaineering Club

MEET REPORTS LOCAL NEWS LUCKY BREAK ON THE BEN DOING THE DÜLFER CRAG LOUGH 50 YEARS AGO HUMAN FACTORS

RAVENSHEUGH - A SHORT STORY SNOW LEOPARDS IN LADAKH CAVING - CLIMBING’S DIRTY LITTLE SIBLING MEN AND MOUNTAINS KID IN A SWEET SHOP

CONTENTS

About the Northumbrian Mountaineering Club The NMC is a meeting point for climbers, fell walkers and mountaineers of all abilities. Our activities centre on rock-climbing and bouldering in summer, snow and ice climbing in winter and hill-walking in both. Meets are held regularly throughout the year. The NMC is not, however, a commercial organization and does not provide instructional courses directly.

REGULARS

6 9 12 14

A WORD FROM THE PRESIDENT What it says

EDITORIAL

John Spencer gives a little background info on all the articles.

FORTHCOMING MEETS

A look forward at whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s coming up on our events calendar. Diaries at the ready!!

MEET REPORTS

A brief commentary on club meets so far this year

Copyright The contents of this magazine are copyright and may not be reproduced without permission of the NMC. The views expressed in the magazine are not necessarily those of the Editor or the NMC.

Cover Shot: Tim Blake on Great Wall Direct Finish (E5, 6a) at Great Wanney (FA John Syrett, 1979) Photo : Russell Lovatt

Background: The New Membersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Meet, Great Langdale, May 2017 Photo : Oliver Grady

FEATURES

LUCKY BREAK

Chris Haworth describes a successful weekend winter climbing on the Ben, snatched from the jaws of a disappointing season

DOING THE DÜLFER

Steve Blake tells the tale of his ascent of the Dulfer route on the Cima Grande 103 years after the bold first ascent

CRAG LOUGH 50 YEARS AGO

Tony ‘Hoozit’ Moulam recounts his time climbing in the noblest County in the mid-1940s

RAVENSHEUGH

A short story by Grace ‘Griggs’ Curtis.

SNOW LEOPARDS IN LADAKH

CAVING: CLIMBING’S DIRTY LITTLE SIBLING

Martin Waugh temporarily abandons the bloc and heads for the mountains in search of a rare cat

Dave Hume confesses all about his dark and murky past

73 MEN AND MOUNTAINS

A blast from the past, written by Tony Greenbank in the 1960s

KID IN A SWEETSHOP

HUMAN FACTORS

Lewis Preston

Phil Behan disucsses the importance of socalled ‘human factors’ in helping us stay safe ‘on the hill’

by going ’. t i p e se ke n the hill i a z e l a p g e so Ma ces ‘o gazin experien a m k OUR our own details. org.u . Y c s m i en er ty This abou for furth azine@th g n i t g i r wr : ma ove ack c utions to b e e S ib contr Send

ticle ne ar

Will Tapsfield on the classic Pinnacle Ridge, Sgurr nan Gillean, Skye (Photo: John Spencer)

NMC Meets

Join the NMC

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.

You can now subscribe online which is easier and faster. More information is available at: thenmc.org.uk

Non-members are always welcome to attend meets.

Payment of fees by GoCardlessDirect Debit is preferred; it’s easy to set up, just click here.

Membership Fees • Full £23 • Prospective £15

Photographs by author of article unless otherwise stated.

You can visit our community : WWW.FACEBOOK.COM/GROUPS/THENMC

and you can visit our official website : WWW.THENMC.ORG.UK

Wall concessions £1 off the standard entry price at: - Sunderland Wall - Durham Climbing Centre - Climb Newcastle * - Newcastle Climbing Centre

*Wednesday nights only

Guidebooks NORTHUMBERLAND BOULDERING

NO NOBLER COUNTY

The definitive and comprehensive guide to climbing in Northumberland – much more useful than ‘the other one’.

The sandstone of Northumberland offers some of the best bouldering in the Country, often in a remote and beautiful setting.

£12.50 to members (RRP £18.95) £2 P&P

£12.50 to members (RRP £19.95) £2 P&P

Celebrating the sport of rock climbing in Northumberland, from first hand accounts of nail-booted ascents in the 1940s to bouldering in the 1990s.

CONTACT: John Earl 0191 236 5922

NORTHUMBERLAND CLIMBING

£2 to members (while stocks last CONTACT: Martin Cooper 0191 252 5707

A WORD FROM THE PRESIDENT

El Presidente Steve Blake

ummer is almost upon us after a remarkably dry spring. While the winter has been disappointing for those intent on scaring themselves in the cold, the summer trad season holds a lot of promise. There is something of a mini trad revival going on in the County at the moment, with a number of major new routes being completed along the Ravensheugh escarpment, and rare repeats of hard established routes. It’s a commendable reflection on the state of local climbing at the moment. Club meets continue to be well attended. The Langdale New Members’ Meet had great attendance, and more importantly the sun seemed to shine! As I write, additional spaces are being acquired for the Glencoe meet, and the numbers attending the East Woodburn evening meet made the crag look very small! There is a tangible enthusiasm and energy in the club which bodes well for the future. In three years’ time it will be the Club’s 75th anniversary. To celebrate the event, the Club is collaborating with Mark Savage to publish a book that will showcase climbing in the County; the history, the pioneers, crags and routes. It will be illustrated by historic first ascent photos, and Mark’s remarkable library of images. We are still in discussion with sponsors, and much work remains to be done, but it promises to be a fine book that will reflect the remarkable climbing the County

has to offer. Early research has thrown up some very interesting personalities and tales, and more will surely emerge. Watch this space. There remain some opportunities to get photographed by Mark on particular routes. He will produce a list soonish. Climbing, as the sad death of Uli Steck shows, can be a fickle mistress. Steck was prematurely taken from the mountaineering community, while a short time later Killian Jornet gets to climb Everest not once, but twice in short order. Some things in climbing are within our control and some (regardless of how â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;goodâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, and prepared we think are) are not. Be careful, and be lucky. (Note - you can stack the stats in your favour by giving Peel Crag a miss!)

Steve Blake cruising Endless Flight (E4 5c), Great Wanney (Photo: Russell Lovatt)

Craig Harrison

Andrew Shanks

Adrian Wilson

Vice President

General Secretary

Membership Secretary

Felix Larieu Treasurer

John Spencer

Magazine Editor

Committee Members Ciara Barrett-Smith; Megan Denman-Cleaver; Radoslaw Florczak; Peter Hubbard; Camilla Mapstone; Joe McCarty; Claire Robertson; Joe Rudin; Emma Smith

EDITORIAL

elcome to this summer edition of County Climber, and what a cracking issue it is.

For those who practise the ‘dark art’ of mixed winter climbing, the 16/17 season was bitterly disappointing, peppered with short-lived windows of opportunity – allright for those living on the spot, and of course for those leading above Grade VII (when all you need is a dusting of snow and a bit of a freeze-up) – but frustrating for the rest of us. Even Al Horsfield, the NMC’s very own über-enthusiast and winter opportunist, only managed one outing, onto Great End....in November! However, a motley crew of club members hit it lucky for the CIC Hut meet at the end of March, enjoying Alpine weather and reasonable-enough conditions to have some fun – as Chris Haworth describes on page 18.

There is an historical thread running through several articles in this issue. On page 26 Steve Blake gives an account of his ascent of the Dülfer route on the West Face of the Cima Grande in the Dolomites last summer. Although ‘only’ graded V+ (5.8 or HVS), its 450 metres and 17 pitches are described on UKC as ‘a proper Alpine experience, with difficult route finding and a waterfall’. The first ascent in 1913 was an impressive feat and over a century later Steve and partner Mike’s ascent was not without its interest! I received an email a few months ago from Tony Moulam which said ‘I have just come across this publication (County Climber) which includes an obituary of Basil Butcher. I knew him briefly in 1945-7 when I was stationed in the army at Catterick and used to hitchhike up to Crag Lough whenever I had free time. I have happy memories of new routes and convivial times at Antic Hay but I lost touch when I was posted to Aldershot and only once saw him again at a Fell and Rock dinner in Keswick, probably in the 50s.’ ‘Who’s Tony Moulam?’ I hear

you ask. Few readers under 50 years old and/or who haven’t studied the history of climbing in the UK in detail will probably have heard of him, but he was one of the leading climbers of his day. He cut his teeth in the Peak District with Peter Harding and others, their approach and achievements arguably laying the foundations of the ‘modern age’ of rock climbing. He later climbed and new-routed, well, just about everywhere, including the Alps, and was the author of several volumes of the first generation of ‘modern’ North Wales guidebooks from the Climber’s Club. Anyway, I thanked him for his email and, invoking the well-known principle ‘A shy bairn gets nowt’, asked him if he’d write something about his time in the North East. You can read ‘Hoozit’s’ (as in ‘Hoozit’s Crack’ (1)) tale of pioneering on Crag Lough on page 34. Grace ‘Griggs’ Curtis, formerly of this parish, is now enjoying life as an undergraduate at the University of East Anglia but, judging from her Facebook postings, not letting being stuck out in the Fens get in the way of her climbing! She’s undertaking a degree in creative writing and County Climber is honoured that she has graced (see what I did there?) its pages with one of her early creations, a dark tale set in a familiar place. Meanwhile, local bouldering veteran Martin Waugh was fortunate to have the opportunity to travel to Ladakh in the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir in search of the elusive snow leopard. Not only that, but in the company of a renowned photographer and one of the trackers who worked with David Attenborough in producing the amazing footage seen on ‘Planet Earth’. We are also fortunate that Martin offered to tell us about his trip (in so doing, somewhat inevitably, also hinting at the bouldering potential of the high mountain passes of the region – there for the taking apparently!) I’ve never been caving. I ‘get’ (more or less) what it’s all about, having heard tales of the good, honest fun to be had and the often jaw-dropping beauty and grandeur of the underground from a number of ex-caver friends (Hmmm...wonder why they’re ex-cavers!). However the thought of guddling and squeezing and dangling and thrutching and fiddling with all that equipment, and possibly drowning in the darkness kind-of puts me off. On page 63, Dave Hume, with characteristic wit, does his damndest to reinforce all the caving stereotypes in his article in which he comes out of the closet to confess some of his subterranean sins. Whilst poring over some old children’s comic albums, my sister, who is not a climber, came across an article about climbing in a copy of Swift from the 1960s (‘Swift’ was one of a group of comics from the same camp, aimed at different age groups and genders; the others were Robin, Girl and Eagle, the latter the home of the legendary ‘Dan Dare’) by Tony Greenbank. Tony is a climber, a freelance journalist and a photographer, active in the field for over 50 years. Amongst many 10

other achievements he was on the FA of Coronation Street in the Cheddar Gorge with Chris Bonington in 1964 and wrote for Boys’ Own! In his reply to my request to use the article he said “Great stuff. Wow, that’s not bad. In Greenbankese throughout. Happy days. I still over 50 years later work as a freelance hack, with a column in the Guardian, but had totally forgotten this one, done in the mists of the past. Incidentally, I once stayed at the Knowe (2) while climbing on Crag Lough - desperate. Crag Lough, that is. There was a guy there who during his stay in midwinter chopped down the tree outside for firewood!” It is with his permission that ‘Men and Mountains’ is reprised a half a century on. Enjoy! As many will know, Lewis Preston, the NMC’s answer to Bill Tilman, retired two years ago. Since then, as the title of his article says, he’s been like ‘a kid in a sweet shop’, now being free to go walking or climbing (or sailing, or skiing...) in places everyone else has been visiting for years, unconstrained by University calendars and deadlines! On page 75 he starts the story of his new-found freedom, walking across the Rockies, providing, in passing, anecdotal evidence that bears do indeed defaecate in the woods, and exploring a Greek volcano and later losing his Kalymnos ‘virginity’, but leaves us with a cliff-hanger on Mingulay (but thankfully the promise of more in the next issue!). Finally, almost as we were going to press, Phil Behan offered his reflections on how so-called ‘human factors’ influence our decision-making and actions, a topic of great importance to him in his job as an anaesthetist (albeit medicine has only lately come to recognise the importance of such ‘soft’ and non-technical areas as communication, situational awareness, teamworking and so on in the prevention of error). He presents a convincing argument that human factors also have a major role to play in climbing, notably in helping prevent accidents and keeping us safe. So there we are. A real bumper issue! Thanks to all contributors. The next one will be published at the end of the year, so if you’re inspired by either what you read herein, or, of course, by your own experiences, get writing! Meanwhile, may the sun shine on whatever you’re doing, and a gentle breeze blow to keep away the midges.....and stay safe! John Spencer Notes 1. On a recent outing to Crag Lough, sampling some of the more esoteric delights of Crag Lough with Al Horsfield, we climbed Hoozit’s Crack Direct which lies way left of Main Wall. Getting to the bottom of the climb through shoulder-high bracken and nettles and up a nearvertical slope of leaf mould was perhaps the biggest challenge. However, the climb itself, at about 4c, was not without its moments, the first (direct) 5 metres-long dirty off-width crack requiring arm-bars and deep jams protected by a natural chockstone, a real classic! 2. The Knowe, near Housesteads, was the club’s hut in the 1950s and 60s.

SUMMER WEEKEND MEETS Galloway Seacliffs, Solway View Campsite, 14th-16th July – Meet leader Joseph Rudin (07891584747). Sample the esoteric pleasures of Galloway, offering, as it does ‘a wide variety of climbing from beachside bouldering to adventurous routes on wild headlands’ (SMC Guide to ‘Lowland Outcrops’), as well as some gnarly (inland) granite at Clifton Crags. To cap it all the scenery is sublime and John usually manages to dial up some decent weather for at least part of the weekend! Peak Grit, Stoney Middleton, 28th-30th July – Meet leader Alastair Boardman, Please note change of email address: alastairpeakmeet@gmail.com. You should have just about recovered from the Yorkshire Grit meet by now, and be ready for anything, so why not sign up for this one? You don’t have to stick to grit, by the way - there’s more limestone within easy reach than you can shake a clip-stick at! Scottish Rock, Glencoe, Lagangarbh, 4th-6th August – Meet leader Craig Harrison (C.Harrison94@live.co.uk or 07718926629). There are 20 Extreme, Hard and/or Classic Rock ‘ticks’ within walking distance of historic Lagangarbh, not to mention eight Munros and, of course, hundreds of other routes. And the midges won’t necessarily be that bad.... Pembroke Seacliffs, Buckspool Farm Campsite, 25th-28th August – Meet leader Radek Florczak (radef79@gmail.com or 07403503550). You’ll be stuck for choice with ‘only’ the 5 volumes of (Climbers’ Club) guides, describing 6500 routes, to choose from. Even the 2016 Wired selected guide only managed to narrow it down to 1000 – and there surely must be a handful with your name on them! North Yorkshire Limestone, Clapham, 15th-17th September – Meet leader Felix Larrieu (07598635809). Besport yourself in Yorkshire’s very own Jurassic Park. There’s plenty to go for, whether trad, or, like the local crag Robin Proctor’s Scar, well bolted sport lines. Numbers are limited on all of these meets and places are allocated on a first-come, firstserved basis, so if you’re interested, get in touch with the meet leader ASAP. Although winter meets fill up quickly, the meet leader keeps a ‘reserve list’; late cancellations are not uncommon, so it’s definitely worth getting your name on the list if you’re keen.

Just turn up – bring your own kit (don’t forget midge repellant for some venues!). For general information, possible lifts or bad weather alternatives etc, check the Facebook page ‘NMC Chat’. Date

Crag

Pub

12 July

Kyloe Out

Black Bull, Lowick

19 July

Ravensheugh

Turk’s Head, Rothbury

26 July

Back Bowden

Blue Bell, Belford

02 Aug

Great Wanney

The Gun, Ridsdale

09 Aug

Bowden Doors

Blue Bell, Belford

16 Aug

Crag Lough

Twice Brewed

23 Aug

Drakestone

Turk’s Head, Rothbury

30 Aug

Great Wanney

The Gun, Ridsdale

06 Sept

East Woodburn

The Gun, Ridsdale

13 Sept

Corby’s

Village Inn, Longframlington

20 Sept

Shaftoe

The Highlander, Milbourne

Alex Hartshorne belaying on ‘Oliver Went A Huntin’’, (E2 5c) East Woodburn (Photo:Tim Hakim)

The NMC Members’ Handbook (available to all members) and the NMC Facebook Page list the dates and locations of all meets. 13

MEET REPORTS

he warm winter resulted in some of the leanest winter climbing conditions for many years. Most of the club’s winter meets were adversely affected, indeed the Alex McIntyre Meet was abandoned altogether (although don’t ask Jim Aiken who showed up at the hut not knowing that the meet had been cancelled!). The exception was the CIC meet at the end of March which, at last, coincided with reasonable conditions, albeit with slowly rising temperatures (see Chris Haworth’s article on page 18). Meanwhile, the decision was taken at the AGM in January to ‘abandon’ the Burnside wall as the main venue for Wednesday evening meets, with Climb Newcastle and the Newcastle Climbing Centre subsequently seeing most of the club traffic.

Ursula Ambulante and Tim Catterall spacewalking in the twilight (Spacewalk, E2 5c, Kyloe) Photo: Ian Birtwistle

The summer programme of weekend meets got off to a great start with a full house at Raven Cottage, Langdale, for the ‘New members’ Meet’ in May. The weekend was blessed Busy busy busy at the Corby’s Crag meet in April | John Spencer

with great weather and saw lots of classic climbs ascended on the high crags as a consequence. Since then there have been ‘official’ meets in Yorkshire, the Peak District and North Wales with variable attendance (and weather!), but lots of ‘unofficial’ activity as well, often organised through social media. Similarly the Wednesday night outdoor meets have been well attended when the weather has behaved itself. Photos and brief reports usually appear on the NMC Facebook Chat page within hours, telling tales of gnarly successes, honourable retreats, occasional epics and rescues, cars that didn’t start and of course the usual mention of misplaced gear (and/or found crag-swag) and midge attack. In summary, there has been loads of stuff happening, and good times appear, generally, to be have been had by all!

Joe Spoor cranking it out on The Jibber (E1 5c), Great Wanney Photo: John Spencer

Left Page: Honeycomb Wall (HVS 4c), Coe Crag Climbers Richard Pow and Lewis Preston (Photo: Josh Rawson)

Above: Robin Sillem belays as the sun sets, Back Bowden (Photo: Ian Birtwistle)

Lucky Break Chris Haworth

inter was rubbish this year. The endless wild swings between heavy dumps of snow and prolonged, mild periods of rain ensured that on any particular day there were either deeps drifts of energy-sapping powder snow lying over unfrozen ground, replete with associated avalanches, or no snow at all. The already ephemeral conditions required for enjoyable and safe winter climbing eluded all but the most keen (masochistic?), and with the exception of the odd ridge ascent it was a frustrating season to be a winter climber.

But none of that mattered as the collective NMC â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Team Ben Nevisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; sat outside the CIC Hut on the first night of what would turn out to be the best weekend of the winter to be anywhere in the mountains, let alone the north face of The Ben. Sipping tea and cuppa soup while watching the orange glow of the sun setting over the horizon would set the tone for the rest of the trip. Attempting to capture it on phone cameras was probably the only major failing of the weekend: carrying several days of heavy kit and food up from the car park provided an easy justification for the lack of any real camera gear, although considering the

quantities of whisky and boxed wine present at the table over the next 3 nights it may simply have been down to poor (excellent) life choices! The forecast of several days of stable good weather had proven too much to resist for some, and a keen group of us had done half the drive the evening before so we could get to the hut early enough to fit in a climb during that first day - and Phil, who had opted to drive the full distance from Newcastle that morning and still climb, the madman. Despite the excessively British quantities of kit that were carried up to the hut, the walk-in was dispatched in short order, as was a short lunch, before we set off up into Coire na Ciste. Joe McCarty and I had a great time in Green Gully (IV, 4) while Emma and Phil soloed Ledge Route (II) shortly behind a group who were carrying a mountain bike! Our report that Green Gully was in good climbing condition would result in just about every other person in the CIC descending on it the next day, when Richard, Eva, the two Johns and Lewis enjoyed some “social” climbing. Meanwhile Emma and Phil went around the corner to Comb Gully (IV, 4) where Emma did her first winter lead on the lower section. Meanwhile, Joe attempted to kick steps in solid ice for the entire first pitch of Glover’s Chimney (III, 4) while Phil wondered what all the noise was from the other side of the Coire! Moving together through the easier middle pitches provided a faster and more exciting means of reaching the final mixed pitch into Tower Gap and a soloed finish up the last part of a surprisingly quiet Tower Ridge. 19

Celebratory chat on the summit plateau L-R: Lewis Preston, John Vaughan, Chris Haworth, Joe McCarty (Photo: John Spencer)

Richard Pow at the top of P3 on Green Gully (Photo: John Spencer)

Tower Ridge from the CIC hut

Saturday heralded the arrival of the crowds, and with such an excellent forecast everybody was keen for an early start after John Spencer’s warning of his experience encountering teams arriving at the hut from the North Face carpark as early as 5am. True to his word, the first group passed the hut as we ate breakfast at an unreasonably early hour, keen to get up routes before the intense afternoon sun hit the ridges we had targeted: was this Scotland or the Alps?! Luckily, they were heading to Point Five and we didn’t see them again until we reached the summit several hours later.

Emma, Phil, Joe and I managed to get onto Tower Ridge (IV, 3) just ahead of the crowds and stayed ahead all morning, moving together on most of the easier ground before the bottleneck of the Eastern Traverse and Tower Gap. Despite being only about 11:30 in the morning, the snow of the Traverse was already becoming worryingly slushy and we were glad not to get held up in a queue here. Nevertheless, the exposure of the traverse was a personal highlight of the weekend, and Richard and Eva didn’t appear to have any difficulty on it despite having to wait behind other groups and doing it an hour after us. Tower Gap proved easier than expected in the excellent conditions we had: the rock of the gap was dry where exposed and putting away the axes and gloves made it straightforward. We even had an audience of about 15 people on the summit watching us, though we would have preferred for them not to have been standing on an overhanging cornice! It was then a quick jaunt up the final slopes to the 21

Phil posing below the Great Tower

The Eastern Traverse 22

Lewis traversing onto First Platform, NE Buttress (Photo: John Spencer)

topout – already familiar territory for Joe and I after the previous day – and on to the summit, which comprised the usual slightly bizarre crowd of climbers from the North Face and walkers from the tourist path. A pleasant walk down the CMD arête onto Carn Mor Dearg and then down into Coire Leis for dinner made for another successful day. Meanwhile, John Spencer and Lewis were having a superb day on one of the other classic ridges and long-desired tick of Northeast Buttress (IV, 4). I have never seen John looking so pleased with himself as he was at dinner that night, though I have it on good authority that it is not as unusual as it may seem. Lewis even managed to collect some airmiles on the notorious “Mantrap”. Avios have been informed! All

Shadow over Coire Leis (Photo: John Spencer) in all an extremely successful weekend of climbing for all involved, with nothing but three star routes being ascended. Of course these weekends are not just about the climbs, and a great time was had by all in the evenings as well. Topics of conversation ranged from condition and weather reports, Scotch, the pros and cons of carrying too much food in to the hut (consensus: there’s no such thing) and the state of Joe’s spelling. There was much teasing of Emma after an encounter with two slightly old fashioned guides on Thursday’s walk in who chastised the men for not carrying her kit for her and were not overly impressed by Joe’s retort that she was a “strong independent woman”, which was intended without sarcasm! One standout conversation occurred between Lewis and a certain Simon Richardson who was in residence in the hut when we arrived. The topic of mountain literature

was being discussed and Lewis expressed his interest in writing a book. Upon being asked by Lewis (who had no idea who Simon Richardson was) whether he had ever written anything, the author of “Chasing the Ephemeral” and half the other published books on Scottish winter climbing responded simply with “a few” while pointing at the framed cover of ‘Ben Nevis’ on the back wall of the room, much to Lewis’ surprise! The excessive quantities of food, whiskey and wine made the extra suffering on the walk in worthwhile in these evenings, when even a Christmas pudding complete with custard was produced by Richard on the last night! With the weather getting warmer still, the conditions leaner and a long drive back to Newcastle ahead, most people headed down on Sunday morning. Those of us who had come up early decided to try and get one final climb in Christmas pudding an’ all! (Photo: John Spencer) before the end of the weekend, racing another group up Observatory Gully to attempt Tower Scoop (III). Upon reaching it we found it climbable but unprotectable due to the thinness of the ice, and with such a good haul of routes behind us already we decided not to risk it and instead had some fun glissading (i.e. bum-sliding) back down the gully. A trio of massive, excited huskies greeting us at the hut completed our stint in the CIC before it was time to repack huge rucksacks and slog back down the hill. We were sweating buckets in the bright sun and 20 degree heat (in March!) by the time we reached the car, and a paddle in the river was mandatory. All that was left was the long, tired drive back to Newcastle and the inevitably depressing Monday morning back at work. Was winter rubbish this year? Not anymore! Special thanks to John Spencer for organising the trip, and Joe Mccarty, Emma Smith, Phil Behan, Richard Pow, Eva Diran, Lewis Preston and John Vaughan for the company.

Above: The CIC posse

Left: Emma looking suitably delighted with her new friends outside the hut

Right: Backing off a very thin Tower Scoop before heading home on Sunday morning.

Doing the Dülfer

Steve Blake

n the morning of 18th of August 1913, two hardy souls began scrambling up the gully that divides the South walls of the Cima Ovest and Cima Grande. Their objective was a corner line on the West Face of Cima Grande that would ultimately deposit them on the summit. The two were the Austrians Hans Dülfer and Walter von Bernuth. Given their talents the approach gully would have been no obstacle. Soon they would have been at the ledge at the base of the West wall, an impressive location with a dizzying drop down the North face immediately to your left, scoping out the best way to reach the corner line which started some 30 metres above them. The corner shoots up for 80m or so before being blocked by a huge chockstone which bars entry into the wide chimney and walls above. They were travelling light; they are recorded as taking a rope (hemp or sisal) three pitons and two new fangled carabiners. I’ve found no record of what they were wearing on their feet, but it would be either rope-soled slippers, or nailed boots. Regardless, they made quick work of the route, with Dülfer leading all Hans Dülfer the pitches. The current description, with modern ropes, describes seven pitches to the Ringband - Dülfer probably did more shorter pitches - another four or five lead to the top. The pair thus established in five hours a new grade V+ (5.8), on an iconic Dolomite peak. Given their minimal equipment and nature of the route, much of it will have been lead with no gear; there are no spikes or chockstones on the pitches to thread, and I suspect at least one peg would have been reserved for the belays, probably with the rope threaded through the eye (!), or a sling, leaving one peg to use on the pitch with a carabiner. It was, and remains, a stunning achievement by two climbers at the top of their

game. They would have descended the ‘Normal Route’, although nowadays much of this is done by abseil. Given their equipment and talents they will probably have down-climbed all of it. Dülfer, along with his contemporaries Paul Preuss, Tito Piaz, Sepp Innerkofler and others of that period, were an amazingly bold and talented group of climbers. If you have any interest in the history of climbing the period is very worthy of study. It is quite humbling. Like Innerkofler, Dülfer was a victim of WW1, killed at Arras on the Western Front on the The West Face of Cima Grande - the Dülfer takes the vertical 15th August 1915 line that finishes in the black gash on the RHS of the tower (two years and three (Photo: from a Czech climbers website) days after the West Face), killed either in an artillery barrage or by a grenade. Von Bernuth survived the war - his climbing diaries ‘1909 -1920 Tourenbuch’ have been published, but my investigation hasn’t turned up much else. So on the night of the 28th August 2016 I find myself sleeping in the front seat of a Fiat Punto in the Refugio Auronzo car park, behind Tre Cime. The hut is locked and discomfort, along with a thunderstorm, are conspiring to keep me awake. My partner Mike is also pretending to be asleep. Around 4 am the rain stops and the sky clears, prompting me to try for a more comfortable couple of hours alongside the car. I doze until dawn and eventually accept the futility of trying to sleep. Likewise Mike 27

Dawn at the rifugio is awake and we kill time waiting for the hut to open so we can get some breakfast. Promptly at seven it opens and we gulp down some breakfast and coffee, return to the car and rapidly sort out kit. Today we will do the West Face of the Cima Grande, it will allow us to scope out the descent of our main objective, the North Face. Though we might need a lot of favours from the Weather Gods as, after a week of fine weather, our holiday has thunderstorms racked up for each day. Having sorted out the gear we set off on the approach which takes you through some spectacular scenery, towering pinnacles, complex gullies, tottering scree and slippy limestone paste! Eventually we arrive at the narrow col, between the Cimas Ovest and Grande. Here we pass a WW1 sentry post! Some more scrambling leads to the base of the route on a ledge that overlooks the North Face, and the East Face of Cima Ovest. Sorted, I set off on the first 30m pitch. It wanders up and right on compact and solid yellow rock, one peg and a couple of nuts protect the delicate climbing which terminates on a ledge below and left of the corner line. Which hangs bottomless on the wall. Here a couple of pegs with some decomposing tat equalising them mark the belay. Mike came up and scoped out the start to the corner, which was running with (cold) water and very slimy. He carefully got established with a combination of slippery laybacking and careful bridging. Mike is a super steady partner, and while we’ve only climbed twice together since we did the Muir Wall back in ‘96 I have complete faith in him, he is unshakable. With little pro he carefully picked his way around the slime and water for 35m to a hanging stance. I followed, impressed by both Mike’s lead, and Dülfer’s vision. The next pitch

The start of the first pitch, the corner is above and right. continued up the corner and was similarly wet and and slimy. Despite the size of the crack there wasn’t much gear to speak of, and a lot of what I was carrying seemed superfluous. It was easier than Mike’s pitch but it still demanded considerable care. Thankfully it deposited me on a decent ledge, with a ‘good belay’ (see photo!). Twenty metres above the chockstone loomed.

The second corner pitch, easier than Mike’s but still wet and a bit run out.

Mike’s pitch took a compact grey wall rightwards to bypass the chockstone. Clean and dry, it sported three pegs, but was a lot easier than the two

corner pitches below. He shot off up it and soon was at his palatial belay, on top of the chockstone. Above the chimney widened. Supposedly grade ‘IV’ it was indeed at the start straightforward, and I was seduced upwards without paying too much attention to protecting the pitch. I reached an awkward bit 25m up and looked down at my pro 6 or 7m below, and made a mental note to be careful….. It was all a bit of a thrash and went on longer than it should have, but eventually, dragging a reluctant rope, I emerged onto a ledge system and belayed below another ‘IV’ corner. Mike came up and continued up the line, belaying where it seemed convenient. We were now ‘off piste’ as far as the description went, but in a couple of pitches landed on the Ringband from where we would begin our descent. The weather was glorious, blue sky Turning the chockstone and warm. We had some lunch, then peered over the North Face and scoped out the three bivi shelters. After 20 minutes we headed off along the Ringband in search of the descent. A couple of long abseils (60m & 40m) led to a section of scrambling where a confusing array of cairns didn’t really help mark the way. We followed our noses, down and around on some very steep ground to another abseil. More scrambling followed leading to more abseils. Focussed as we were on the descent (and being in a gully) we hadn’t noticed the ‘cloud’ – but we could not but help notice the loud crack of thunder, rain and hail which announced the arrival of an early thunderstorm. We donned our waterproofs and continued. The storm was short-lived and by the time we reached the base it had passed. We were quite pleased with ourselves and the way we had managed the descent. Eventually we reached the gully separating the Cima Piccola from Cima Grande. We were safe. Our reverie, however, was broken by the classic Dolomite cliche, in the form of a very large rock that arrived and

The wall below the chockstone

Starting the wide chimney. A further corner pitch and some easy scrambling is hidden above.

The top of the approach gully 31

shattered on the scree between the two of us! Mike looked at me and said ‘I was just thinking about taking my helmet off!’ This prompted as speedy a descent of the path as our aging knees would permit, and we eventually reached the track between the Laverado and Auronzo huts. We stopped in the sun and took off helmets, sorted gear and continued to the hut. We dropped off the kit at the car, checked in, and went for a doze in the room - it had been a long 24 hours! After about half an hour we were woken by a huge clap of thunder, and, opening the shutters, witnessed the arrival of the real afternoon storm (about 1pm - still earlier than forecast). The back of the Cima Ovest was barely visible, and what you could see was sobering with with several huge waterfalls gouting onto the scree below the face. The rain hammered for a further couple of hours then subsided, but it stayed grey and miserable. The shelters on the Ringband would provide considerable protection even in these conditions - but being caught on any climb or descent would be truly grim. The next day dawned dull and damp, the forecast had not Mike on the final corner, another pitch, then scramimproved, and the hut was bling to the Ringband very expensive. We decided to cut our losses (we are nothing if not very prudent) and head out of the mountains to Arco, with its sport climbing, twenty one climbing shops, and pizzerias and gellateria beckoning. The sun shone. it didn’t rain and we did a ton of climbing. But the thing I will remember, long after the sport routes have merged into a blur of holds and bolts, is standing on the shoulders of a giant in that remarkable corner. Chapeau Herr Dülfer!

Mike on the Ringband at the junction of the North and South faces

The last scramble

The rain!

The view of the East face of the Cima Ovest from the chockstone belay

Crag Lough and after: memories of 50 years Tony Moulam

y long journey to Crag Lough began on 16 August, 1945, the official VJ day (1) holiday which I spent at Black Rocks, Cromford with Ken Herbert, the photographer of the Stonnis Club (2). Peter Harding and Ronni Lee (3) were supposed to join us but his motorbike broke down, and they did not arrive! However Ken and I did several climbs, the most notable of which was my first lead of Stonnis Crack and an ascent of Lean Manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Superdirect on a top rope. I also spent considerable time clearing a lot of grass from an overgrown crack at the left end of the cliff. At the end of this effort I was too exhausted to lead it so left instructions for Peter to do it next day, (which he did as VJ Crack, VS, 4c) as I had a more pressing engagement. I cycled home alone and next day caught a train to Malvern, as although I had volunteered for the army when I was 17 in 1944 I had only just been called up to Norton Barracks on VJ+1. I found that several others who were due to enlist had decided they were not needed now that the Japanese had surrendered! But this was not the view which prevailed with the authorities and the delinquents were rounded up by the Military Police and confined in the Glasshouse rather than being taught how to kill people and such useful military accomplishments. After six weeks of training, during which I must have demonstrated some aptitude, I was selected for a short course at the University of Exeter, which should lead to a commission in the Royal Signals.

Tony Moulam on Capel Curig Pinnacles in 1946 (Photo: Moulam collection)

So, at the end of September I was issued with another Railway Warrant that allowed me to travel to the South West. I took the opportunity of searching Dartmoor for climbs and, in the generous vacations, visiting Wales, Dow Crag and my old haunts at Cromford. All good things come to an end and I was recalled to the colours in Catterick at the beginning of August. I first persuaded a fellow cadet to take me to the Lake District, somewhere familiar,

‘....grey crags above a pellucid loch...’ Crag Lough (Photo: John Spencer)

on his Matchless motorcycle (we hid it outside the Youth hostel in Kendal, as you were not supposed to use motorized transport in those days) and in the morning we went on to Langdale and did Middlefell Buttress (Diff) and Raven Crag Buttress (Severe), the only two routes in our guide book, in pouring rain! I then formed the Royal Signals OCTU Mountaineering Club which provided our select few members with Army Lorry transport (and drivers) to Langdale again, and North Wales. The real breakthrough came on August 9th and an uncomfortable pillion ride with Bill Jordan from our barracks to Newcastle and onward on the old Military Road. I could endure the pillion no more so got Bill to stop in a layby and walked north, through a little valley to an enchanting sight. This was no Bronte-esque dour brown and grey moorland, but an exciting view over illimitable sunlit rolling hills, a blue sky and grey crags above a pellucid loch. There were figures on the cliff and I soon met Basil Butcher, W Miller, Alf Mullan, J Thompson and ‘Dennis’. The latter led me up Main Wall (HS) and Bracket (V Diff) and I made my debut leads on West Corner (Severe) and Hadrian’s Wall (4).

Basil had an air of authority and obviously knew a lot about climbing generally, not only concerning Highshields Crag, which I learned was the correct name of our current playground, rising impressively above relatively flat land and echoing with the metallic ‘tchack tchack’ calls of numerous jackdaws. When I hitch hiked up to the cliff a fortnight later he made me welcome in Antic Hay, the NMC hut (6) and masterminded the first ascent of Hoozit’s Crack (Severe) - I was ‘Hoozit’ as he did not know my name! - led by Charlie Gossman, and pointed me at Battered Buttress, a new route which now seems to have vanished from the guidebook. The time had come for an RSOMC meet at my new-found passion and so Peter Snell and John Darrah accompanied me in a jeep provided by the MT Officer and we stayed Al Horsfield powering over the roof on Pinnacle Face (Photo: John Spencer) at Antic Hay again. On Saturday I warmed up on Monolith (Severe) and Pinnacle Face (VS, 4c) before removing a lot of turf to discover Centurion’s Crack (Severe), a lovely little hand-jamming problem. I so enjoyed it I led it three times and even repeated it on the Sunday! One of the NMC who was present, J Eliot, pointed out Impossible Buttress to me, as an unclimbed opportunity and I quickly climbed up to a stance below the overhang that protected the final 20 feet of steep slippery rock. I brought up Peter but as we could find no belay he seemed less than keen to hold the rope whilst I continued. Instead he persuaded me to conquer the final few feet protected by a top rope. I found the climbing quite difficult, being out of balance and devoid of holds – in short not the sort of pitch I really enjoyed. I knew that I could lead the route but wanted protection nearby. The answer was to seek out a blacksmith and get him to make some pegs. The solution was found in a business directory I looked up in the NAAFI library in 36

Camp Centre. There was a farrier listed in Aysgarth and I persuaded another of my cadet friends, John Williams, to accompany me on an expedition there on the next weekend leave. We left camp in the fitful dawn light at 5.15 am and walked on country roads to Leyburn, Wensley and West Witton, where we bought a welcome breakfast. Replete we continued more slowly to Aysgarth where we eventually found the blacksmith. I made a quick sketch on the back of a fag An NMC team outside Antic Hay in the 1940s packet and (Photo: Joan Todd collection) explained what I wanted. Though puzzled as to why I wanted such an unlikely item he agreed to make two or three during the next week, and, satisfied, John and I went to inspect the famous falls, caught a bus to Hawes where we lunched on pie and beer in a pub. Then, to make the best of the day, we set off for the Buttertubs Pass and an ascent of Lovely Seat. Tiring now we descended to Muker and caught a bus back to Catterick and our training. This week included driving instruction in Bedford 15 tonner and Fordson lorries and culminated in a test drive in Leeds, at the rush hour (which probably wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t too bad in 1947). I passed the test and was allowed to borrow a motorbike the following weekend to return to Aysgarth and buy my 3 bespoke pitons for 3/6d (5) from the justly proud artisan. My resolve fortified by the ironmongery I persuaded Peter to come to Crag Lough again the next weekend. We started off with an ascent of Monolith and then Peter held the rope whilst I went down, up and down and up again the final 20 feet of Impossible Buttress. I had obviously made the pitch look difficult so Peter abdicated his secondâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s role to Alf Mullan, who happened to be there.

I had met Alf at Laddow Rocks some months beforehand when he and Peter Harding had solved the old problem, Twin Chimneys Eliminate (E1, 5b). He happily tied on to two of my hand made pegs, driven brutally into available cracks with my cut down slaters’ pick. I was not so sure of success now that the testing time had come, but was too proud to back down. I moved up to and over the overhang and balanced precariously just above it. A tactical retreat and then a determined surge up left me balancing on a sloping hold, and then, I reached the top! (7) To round off the day Alf became the second leader of Centurion’s Crack and we then

Laddow Rocks

(Photo: courtesy of v-g.me.uk)

shared leads on Main Wall Traverse (VS, 5a). But my time at Catterick was coming to an end. The OCTU Mountaineering Club enabled trips to Almscliffe, the Lake District (Dow Crag) and even Helsby but by the end of November we returned to Crag Lough travelling by train and bus. We left Catterick at 1.08pm and arrived at Antic Hay at 8 o’clock!. My memories of fine weather were shattered as torrential rain marred the morning. We set a deadline of 12.10 and set off to the cliff. The rain stopped at 12.20 and we were almost dry by the time we tackled Monolith, Centurion’s Crack and East Central Chimney (V Diff), all in nailed boots! My first visit to Peel Crag (and also my last), because of its reputation for poor rock, was on December 13th. Our drivers decided to stay with their lorry whilst Peter Snell, John Williams and I climbed Garden Wall (8) in nails and the chilly wind. This was the only route we had information about but we also managed a crack on the west side, which seemed a little harder. To end this trip Peter led a chimney on 38

the left before we retreated to the familiar routes on Crag Lough. I was posted to Austria soon after Christmas and over the next two or three months was able to learn to ski in Klagenfurt (where we were able to hire skis and boots from a local, communicating in Latin via one of my comrades!), Vienna and Spital am Semmering to make up for the lack of rock climbing!

Joe Spoor about to tackle to crux of Route One; on the right Tim Catterall is on Intermediate Treatment E2, 5c (Photo: John Spencer) The time passed quickly and I was eventually demobbed with an ill-fitting suit, a trilby and an invitation to continue my education, at the governmentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s expense, at Manchester University. This location meant that my climbing focus for the next 15 years became North Wales, the Lake District and the Pennines. However, on graduation, my job meant that I could travel to the North East, at least occasionally. My first opportunity to revisit the cliff I had enjoyed so much was in June 1964. John Longland was then working for Unilever in Newcastle and I arranged to meet him after a visit to the George Angus Company in Wallsend. We drove out to Twice Brewed in my company car. We walked quickly to the crag, to frustrate the rapidly approaching darkness, and did a couple of routes before I pointed him at the top pitch of Impossible Buttress whilst safely tied to my two original Aysgarth pegs, which were still in situ below the overhang. I was quietly pleased that John found the pitch testing, but less so when I had to simulate ease in following it. I was certainly not going to let a younger man know that I found it fairly hard! I then led Main Wall before we returned to the Imperial Hotel to celebrate my achievement of

17 years before! Travel difficulties in 1947 had precluded visits to Henhole, Ravensheugh and Bowden Doors but all but the first were remedied over the next few years.

Tony Moulam at the cairn on Bloodybush Edge

The next memorable event was on a business trip I made to Newcastle flying from Manchester in a de Havilland Heron. On arrival I collected a hire car and made some visits in Middlesborough before changing into climbing clothes and enjoying myself soloing several routes on the Wainstones in the evening. I stayed in Yarm and called on another customer on Friday morning. As it happened to be the August Bank Holiday weekend I could make no visits in the afternoon, nor could return home until the evening. Reluctant to miss this windfall opportunity I drove out and treated myself to a modest lunch at the George at Chollerford and then on to Langleeford in the Harthope Burn to climb the Cheviot. It was a lovely fine day for walking, with a gentle cooling breeze and I soon reached the col between Scald Hill and my objective. The views were impressive but I realised that I had limited time and left the summit, continued at a fair pace over Cairn Hill, Scotsmanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Knowe and Combe Fell from where I had to descend 300 feet before toiling up through heathery ground to Hedgehope Hill and a steep ankle wrenching descent back to the car; the round trip had taken me 2Âž hours and left me plenty of time to drive to Woolsingham airport

and catch my plane. When I eventually got back to Manchester I found that my daughter had been born by Caesarian section (a fortnight early) but I was not allowed to call her Cheviot and had to settle for Clare! Two years later I stayed with Mike and Carol Evans, friends in Bedlington. Mike and I tackled a walk from the wall to Wooler. By going NW from Haltwhistle to Christianbury Crags, along the boundary of the Blue Streak testing range, Spadeadam, and then north east the whole trip would be achieved whilst crossing only two roads! As we set off over open moorland following the liquid calls of golden plover, and the occasional injured wing demonstration by lapwings, Tarka, our companion golden Labrador, soon tired of dashing ahead and returning to us as he realised that we were in for a long haul. We passed a fisherman and two anglers by the river Irthing, and followed it to Churnsike Lodge from where a track took us to two ruined cottages, the second marked as Redsike on the map. The Gair Burn provided an easy approach to Smuggy’s Pike and wonderful coast-to-coast views from the aptly named, Sighty Pike. The next landmark was Christianbury Crag, which was a disappointingly small jumble of sandstone boulders. To the north a forestry road above the Yelt Burn eased our way to Lewisburn and the road (now submerged by the Kielder Water project) which we followed to Kielder Castle Working Mens’ Club where we claimed to be affiliated to the Bedlington branch so that we could buy a pint of beer and a packet of crisps each! Despite leaving the club at 7.15pm the pull uphill through the forest was enervating in the heat, as the enclosing trees seemed to exclude all air. The woodland eventually receded from the track and we enjoyed pleasant relief to our bivouac site at Scaup, no ducks but more dilapidated cottages. Our evening meal of stew and coffee did not\take long to prepare, or eat, and Tarka wolfed the second half of his tin of Kit Kat. We huddled up in our fertiliser bags and slept till 5 a.m and woke with a patina of ice on our cagoules. Fried corned beef and breakfast coffee was quickly finished and we set off on our second day at 5 past 6. The White Kielder encouraged us on, and more forestry tracks, again in excessive heat, brought us to the second road, the A6088 at Catcleugh. We climbed up steadily along the Spithope Burn and came thankfully out of the forest just south of Grindstone Law. From here an easy track led us to the Chew Green Roman camp where we spent a few moments looking over the old fortifications, before braving the danger area of the Redesdale Range. About a mile along the good track we diverted left on a well trodden path to Buckham’s Walls, Green Law and Lamb Hill where we joined an intermittently paved path on the

border. Easy going now to Beefstand Hill, Mozie Law (two more walkers) and Windy Gyle. Before we reached Auchope Cairn we struck out to Scotsman’s Knowe and an easy descent into the Hartshope Burn, then along the road to civilisation at Earle near Middleton Hall. From here we cheated and got a lift to Wooler and half an hour’s well deserved drinking before Carol came to pick us up and whisk us home to Bedlington Hall. My most recent visit to the area was on 9th May 1989 when I realised that there were a couple of outstanding 2000ft hills I had to climb to add to my tally of the English and Welsh Hewitts, although I was using George Bridge’s list. I persuaded a friend with whom I was staying in Hesket Newmarket to forgo a Lakeland day to join me in this enterprise. We left early in the morning and drove, via the old military road, on to the lovely little town of Rothbury, where we could not resist the idea of refreshment at The Queen’s Head. A sandwich and a pint and we drove on to Hartside and Linhope, where we put on our walking gear. It was easy trudging up bare hillside to Bloodybush Edge and its defining trig point. At the col before Cushat Law we were overtaken by a shepherd/ farmer on a quad bike who was not pleased with our proposed climb of his hill. He said that we were likely to frighten his sheep so that they would go up the fell again, but Peter (a solicitor) with his silver tongue mollified the man pointing out that I had come all the way from Oxfordshire to climb this hill! When we got back to the car I found that my new boots had rubbed my heel to a near blister, but a quick application of Compeed alleviated the pain. As we drove back west the sun came out and played with pink pulsating light on the encroaching cloud. A fine sort of farewell from the noble county. --------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------

Notes (1) VJ day = ‘Victory over Japan Day’ (2) The Stonnis Mountaineering Club was a Peak–based club named after the Black Rocks of Cromford, a.k.a. ‘Stonnis’. (3) Peter Harding and Veronica ‘Ronni’ Lee were both founder members of The Stonnis. Harding, who died aged 82 in 2007, was one of a group of climbers who pushed rock climbing standards in the UK in the years after the end of the Second World War. He is attributed with popularising the use of jamming. Some of his notable first ascents include Suicide Wall at Cratcliffe Tor (HVS, 5b), Goliath’s

Groove at Stanage (HVS, 5a), and Promontory Traverse at Black Rocks (E1, 5b) in the Peak District; and in North Wales Ivy Sepulchre (E1, 5b) and Spectre (HVS, 5a), all classics to this day. Lee, who died in 1987 aged 61, was one of the leading women climbers of that era, repeating many of the hard test-pieces of the time

Harding lassooing the spike on the FA of Promontory Traverse (Photo: from Footless Crow under Collective Commons)

and accompanying Harding on some of his first ascents. Her speciality, developed apparently to compensate for her diminutive height, was the mantleshelf! For Tony Moulam’s account of his climbing exploits with Peter Harding see: http:// climbers-club.co.uk/journal/original/2008-10-Journal-p56-65.pdf The activities of the Stonnis climbers, particularly Harding, are also described and discussed in Peak Rock (pages 62-71) For an obituary of Veronica Lee see: http://footlesscrow.blogspot.co.uk/2016/03/ tinkerbellronnie-lee-remembered.html (4) Probably Hadrian’s Buttress, Severe. (5) For the young’uns: 3/6d = ‘three shillings and sixpence’, equivalent to 17.5p (6) Antic Hay, named after Aldous Huxley’s comic novel published in 1923, was the NMC’s first hut. Situated near Twice Brewed on the Military Road, it was originally owned by Basil Butcher but he transferred the tenancy arrangement so it could be used by the club. (7) The route is ‘Impossible Buttress Route One’, and at HVS, 5a, is quite spicy with the crux right at the top! (8) Garden Wall was the original name of Sunset (Severe)

RAVENSHEUGH Grace Curtis

Ravensheugh....â&#x20AC;&#x2122;bathed in almost heavenly light....â&#x20AC;&#x2122; (photo: Mark Savage)

omewhere in the north there is a crag. Ravensheugh. It is not a cliff. It is not flat and uniform. It is a monolith of rock, rising out from the hillside to loom over the landscape like an ancient king. Beneath the stone wall lies a kind of grass basin, a horizontal pause for breath before the land tilts again and runs like a river down to the valley below. On clear days, it is glorious. After midday the sun sits in such a way that the whole place is bathed in almost heavenly light, making the metallic rooftops of the tiny toy farms glint among patchwork fields of green and gold. The view can go all the way to the Cheviot hills, wrapping them in a hazy blue gauze and enchanting that bleak place for a moment with an alpine glamour. Nobody would hesitate to call it beautiful, not on a day like that. But today is not that day.

Instead it is a grim autumn afternoon, the type that sucks the colour out so thoroughly that even the lively red heather seems sapped and grey. The vast landscape of the hills and valley has been eaten up in a layer of fog, the tips of which reach all the way up the hill to the edges of the basin. The crag is isolated now. The king is alone in his palace, the country he watches over a desolate wasteland. On this day the boy has chosen to come. At an angle from the main cliff there stands a second face, small enough that a fall from the top would probably only snap your shins. He has travelled miles to get to this small crop of rock, on foot through the poor weather, lugging a mat almost as big as himself and a pair of slim shoes that could be used for ballet were they not made of reinforced rubber. He is in his mid-teens, not quite a man. He has come to climb. There are two others there, climbing with ropes. He spotted them doing an easylooking chimney on the main face. A man in a black raincoat, and a woman in red. He moved his mat deliberately so he’d stay out of sight. He doesn’t want to interact with them. He despises small talk, and he doesn’t want questions of why a boy his age is out here on his own. That is why he came on such a dreary evening: he

assumed it would be empty. Resting on his mat he spies the couple arguing at the base of the crag. The man gestures towards the nearest route, a steep, overhanging crack that marks the highest point of the face. She shakes her head. He takes her hand and she brushes it away, reprimanding him in words he can’t quite make out.

‘...eaten up in a layer of fog...’ (photo: Mark Savage)

Like so many other voices in the boy’s life, the two climbers sound muffled and indistinct, so much whispering through so much cotton wool. Talking makes no sense. They will ask you how you feel, then tell you that your answer is wrong. They will tell you how you actually feel. They will tell you how to feel better. They will pause to let you speak, they will nod, and then they will say exactly what they said before, perhaps a little firmer this time, or a little softer. The language of climbing is all that interests him now. Even when he was younger and everything was fine he delighted in that conversation between body and rock, how the curve of a deep hold said ‘good’ and a miniscule crimp said ‘hard’ and the feeling of rising up, crossing the threshold to a new challenge said ‘yes, that’s right, this is working’. Above all he lived to top out. To push himself over the final lip and stand, sore and victorious, knowing beyond doubt that this is success. His conversations with people have end points he doesn’t understand. Everything, really, is insurmountable, everything but climbing. To pass a test, to have a talk, to make it through the day – these trials are like running on a treadmill to him. He

can do it, certainly. But the only reward was more of the same. Normal life is an end unto itself, and lately he’s been doubting that this incentive is sufficient. Eventually the man appears to win the argument and he begins to climb, the woman reluctantly belaying at his feet. He is quick, efficient and strong; he secures himself

The view from Ravensheugh (photo: Mark Savage)

as he goes with the ease of a seasoned leader. The boy goes back to bouldering, letting himself be absorbed on a hard problem for some time, following his instincts. When he next looks back to the couple it is the woman’s turn to climb. She is at the crux of the route, just a few meters from the top. Despite himself he keeps watching, getting absorbed in the drama of her struggle. She dithers about, examining one possibility, then another. Eventually she sees there is only one way, and, taking a couple seconds to gather her courage, she leaps for it. Her hand falls just short of the hold and she falls. She keeps falling. At some point in those endless few seconds the woman’s body passes a point from which the boy realizes it cannot possibly return. He’s seen people fall in climbing – fallen plenty himself, sometimes a long way. But always with that comforting tug to a stop, the pendulum swing of the rope while the faller dangles awkwardly in their harness with a look of frustration or chagrin. Silently he wills for it to happen, begs for it. Please stop falling. But in the time it takes him to form this thought she is

already hitting the rocks below. He looks away. He can’t help it. He gives himself a moment to stare out at the fog, knowing he needs to go to her, knowing he can’t. He takes a few deep breaths and remembers what his father ‘She keeps falling.’ used to say about cowards. Then he turns and walks down the path to the base of the cliff. He only needs to look for a second to know that she is dead. Through the wave of nausea he tries to feel relieved: this means he will not have to wait with her while she dies. But still. The body. His eyes, unable to focus on the thing in front of him, go wandering, and in doing so they encounter something unexpected. Lying a few feet away is the end of the rope. Naked, bare. Nothing clipped. Where was the belay? Why hadn’t her partner clipped in? Had he simply pulled in the rope with his bare hands as she scaled the arching underbelly of the cliff? No... it is impossible. Nobody, especially not a climber of his skill, could show such neglect. It’s wrong. It just feels wrong. As he stands there looking at the rope, the boy feels a sensation like a drop of sweat running down the back of his neck. But he is not sweating. He looks up. From the lip of the rock, a face stares back. The expression is too distant to be readable. The boy moves to call out, but the wall of the man’s silence seems to clog up his throat. He wants to gag. The man stares silently at the body of his partner. And then the boy understands. It is not an accident he has just witnessed. Slowly, as if in the presence of a wild animal, the boy removes his left climbing

shoe, keeping his eyes fixed on the man. He drops it, then moves to take off the other. In his mind he is seeing all of the surrounding country, the paths that meet the tracks, the tracks that meet the road. Where can he run? Where can he run? Those tight rubber boots will leave his toes bleeding in half a mile, but his trainers are still with his bag. Going in that direction will take him down the hill and into the valley. Nothing but acres of farmland there, roads that are rarely used. He needs the safety of people. So instead he turns right. He sprints up the side of the cliff and starts running, barefoot, down a wide trail that cuts through the heather. This is the way he came in – he hopes so, ‘...the end of the rope. Naked, bare’ anyway. The light is vanishing fast now and he cannot risk getting lost. He focuses on his feet, watching for sharp rocks, trying to keep a rhythm, keep calm. But it hurts. Oh, God, it hurts so much.... Five steps more, he tells himself. And when those are done: just another five. Come on. You can do five more. In this way he moves himself across the face of the land. Eventually he reaches a point where the path curves away to run parallel to the woodland. Knowing he’s come some way, the boy allows himself the luxury of a look back. Perhaps he wasn’t followed. Perhaps now he can relax. Less than two hundred yards away, a figure in a black raincoat is running towards him. The boy’s heart constricts. He stands a moment, unable to believe it, unable to process this disaster. Then he turns tail and runs into the trees. After a few steps into this hushed, damp place, his body forces him to slow down, exhaustion fighting against fear. Now is the time to hide, it says. Not to run. So he slows to a snail’s pace, staying low. The trees are close. He uses that. Every time he hears a 50

noise he changes direction, even just a rustle. He is aware of how loud his breathing is, almost as aware as he is of the pain in his feet. The bracken is softer, but one misstep can cut so sharp he has to cover his mouth so as to not cry out. After an immeasurable time creeping and wincing, he sees grey light through the branches ahead. He stops creeping, stops trying to be quiet. As he steps out of the trees he breaks back into a run. He does not stop to assess his surroundings this time. Nor does he let himself look back, fearing what he might see. The village lies somewhere south of the woodland, that is all he needs to know. He is exposed again now. If the man comes out of the trees he will be seen and soon overtaken with his injured feet. He tells himself that he will be able to see his goal once he makes it to the crest of a small slope ahead of him. Partially because this is what he remembers, partially to motivate himself through the agonizing climb. But when he gets to the top what he sees is wrong. The view below ought to hold a river, a village. But all he can see is a swirling mass of fog, filling up a valley that looks far too vastâ&#x20AC;Ś He realizes with mounting horror what he has done. He somehow got turned around in the woodland, and the path he has been following has taken him right back to where he started. Ravensheugh. He recognizes the spot on which he now stands.

Photo: Mark Savage

The grassy downwards slope. The two boulders leant against each other. This is where he killed her. He realizes these things all at once, and for a moment he can only stand there, paralyzed. Then he hears a noise behind him. At the top of the cliff two figures face one another. There is a momentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s pause. Then one of them lunges and the other, startled, steps back. Their hands grapple and they fall. Someone is hit. Once. Twice. The third time connects with air as the one beneath wriggles free, he tries to return the blows with a stomp. It connects, but he is unbalanced for a brief second. Now they are both on their feet, and one of them maybe says something, maybe just spits out some blood, and this does something to the other, makes his shoulders sag. The one who spoke raises his hands as if in victory. He moves to speak again, but the words never leave his mouth, because the other man has barrelled into him shoulder-first. This attack seems ineffective: he is thrown back only a few steps. But the third step leaves behind the ground he didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t notice running out. The clear air takes him by surprise and his arms pinwheel for a moment, but there is no point, he is already falling. Over the edge of the cliff, rushing past the wall of stone, down backwards flailing onto the rocks beneath. He twitches. He tries to move. He cannot. The one on top stares at the one below. Neither make a sound. To see them there you might think the whole world has gone silent. Then, like the incoming tide, pale fog closes in around the appalling figure of the fallen man, and the one who still stands turns and walks away into the dusk.

Snow Leopards in Ladakh Martin Waugh

nthused by David Attenborough’s latest amazing wildlife series and in particular by the fabulous episode depicting some amazing footage of snow leopards, my wife, Clare Rowntree, a keen amateur photographer, decided I needed an adventure. Whilst on a trip in India with a renowned photographer, Behzad Larry, she discovered he was planning to start running trips to see snow leopards and had assembled a strong support team in Ladakh to that end. Wanting to do it herself but realizing that, as it was a winter trip to the Himalayas it might be a bit chilly for her and also involve more walking than her legs would cope with, she took an executive decision and signed me up immediately. I was given a choice but clearly backing out would betray a huge lack of moral fibre (truth always hurts!). Roll on three months and late February 2017 saw me checked in at Newcastle airport loaded up to the gills with warm stuff and tons of Clare’s nice camera gear, the finer functions of which remained hazy but at least being Fuji it had plenty of knobs and buttons to fiddle with, very much in the SLR style of old. The trip was designed to be flexible to allow us to react to snow leopard sightings in the area or any unforeseen events and, being an inaugural trip, it was something of a test-bed for future versions. Included were the services of an expert local guide and spotter, Khenrab, from the Snow Leopard Conservancy who had worked with the BBC team on one of their visits. Hopefully this would maximize our chances of spotting this “ghost of the mountains”. In addition we had Behzad’s business partner Rashid with us, a very experienced mountaineer and guide. OK, I’ll admit it, I hate travelling, it’s a chore. I don’t mind being places but the getting there…

Two sleepless days in and a short flight from a pleasantly warm Delhi up to Leh took us over the endlessly populated and heavily cultivated plains to the North until, quite suddenly and strikingly, the hills began erupting from the fields, quickly sprouting into snowy peaks as far as the eye could see, replete with glaciers and not surprisingly, devoid of habitation. The collision of tectonic plates had driven the Himalayas to their skyscraping heights and even the valley floors to above 3,500m, in the process causing a physical barrier to incoming weather systems such that the area has a high altitude desert climate. My fellow passengers were an eclectic mix of traditionally dressed nomads returning to Leh, Buddhist monks and others wearing a complete mishmash of the old and new, as well as a nice bunch of keen (very keen) birders drawn from across Europe, also heading for the snow leopards. Clare had booked a window seat for me to enjoy the spectacular views on the flight so I’m afraid the Ladakhi girl sat next to me who smilingly suggested we trade seats using sign language was disappointed but thankfully not at all perturbed. Barely clearing the jaggedly pointed peaks guarding Leh we dropped into the Indus valley, making a final turn for the approach to the airport. Keep your camera on a few seconds longer to catch the morning sun glinting off the serpentine bends of the river, it’s a tremendous view. Stepping off the plane at 3,500m leaves you in no doubt about the scarcity of oxygen and lack of humidity. The area is prone to low atmospheric pressure too which doubtless contributes to its propensity to trigger altitude symptoms in visitors. The first things I saw were bloody magpies and grotty pigeons. Not an auspicious start! Everywhere flapped prayer flags, Ladakh being a Buddhist enclave in a predominantly Muslim state, with prayer wheels and stupas at every turn. Jammu and Kashmir is a sensitive border area with frequent clashes across the line of control and continued tensions. It is quite the most heavily militarised place I have ever seen. Army bases are ubiquitous, emblazoned with the unit name and slogan, very much in the surreal style of some bizarrely competitive American basketball teams. Army lorries are all over the place, though this might be connected with their average standard of driving. Having met the team I rested up, trying to recover from jet lag and acclimatise, rather wishing I’d tolerated the Diamox somewhat better. I hadn’t. The following day we visited a few local monasteries, mostly closed up for the Buddhist festival of Losar, which also led to a prohibition on the consumption of

meat for the duration. The valley was utterly barren, only broken by stands of bare poplars and willow, a recent development stimulated by a tourism-related surge in building, making scarce building materials even more expensive and thus an attractive cash crop for the locals. Traditionally the buildings are constructed of mud bricks with floors and roofs of poplar logs overlaid with herringbone-laid willow wands and then packed with a mixture of brush and mud in the case of the flat roof,

Khenrab of the Snow Leopard Conservancy and colleague with a rescued snow leopard cub surrounded by a parapet of mud brick, which is then used to store and dry hay after the harvest to feed the animals over winter. Casement windows of wood look rather alpine with ornate decorations but only single glazing. Recently climate change has led to an increase in rainfall causing erosion of the tops of the walls. Possibly the increase in tree cover may be contributing too. Surprisingly, Ladakhis are not immune to keeping up with the Joneses and despite the availability, economy and superiority of local building materials it has become a status symbol to build in concrete so this is increasingly common. Above the settlements, Leh straggling untidily across the valley floor, the Ladakh and Zanskar ranges reach up to 7,000m, with a huge talus of rubble and earth cladding many of the lower slopes, with evidence of frequent mudslides. I can only think they havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t completely fallen down because they are frozen together. There is some solid rock but itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s often a long way up.

‘Exploring around the campsite chukkas....caught the eye...’

‘Amazingly camouflaged against the rocks and almost invisible...’ (Photo: Behzad J Larry, Voygr.com )

The next day we drove out to the Hemis National Park, one of India’s largest and a prime location to spot snow leopards which are driven down to lower altitudes by the winter weather and are a little easier to find. Khenrab had been with the conservancy trust for fifteen years with his colleagues. Born in the Park and highly motivated to save the leopards from poaching and revenge killings after stock losses it was an uphill struggle to re-educate the locals. This impressive turnaround has been achieved by ensuring the communities as a whole benefit from snow leopard tourism and the income it brings. Villagers are assisted in providing facilities fit for homestays and compensated for any stock lost as well as having help to build leopard-proof enclosures for their sheep. Injured or orphaned leopards are taken to a local sanctuary to recover and hopefully become fit to be released back into the wild. The locals are now proud of their snow leopards, a win-win solution and an enlightened model which unfortunately many countries fail to find. Walking the last 2km to the campsite at 3700m it was certainly warm and sunny though the river had about a foot of ice on it. The crew set the tents up and I checked out the long-drop toilets. No running water here as it was all frozen solid. And not just the water… Snow leopard

Exploring around the campsite, chukkas

and snow cocks caught the eye, and a white-browed tit warbler provoked a near avalanche of birders as it flitted through the brush and small trees along the riverbed. Himalayan griffon vultures, lammergeiers and golden eagles soared on the thermals way up high, distinguished, apparently, by subtle differences of wing angle and markings. Snow leopards had been spotted recently (aren’t they always?) though tales abounded of folk spending weeks in the camp and seeing nothing, reminiscent of Peter Matthieson’s book “The Snow Leopard” when a three month journey through the heart of the Himalayas revealed plenty of signs but no actual sightings.

Snow leopards, like humans, have regular routes within their 10km range, often shared with people or other animals. Some went right through the camp and an adjacent ravine. They are largely solitary, mothers with cubs apart, meeting only for mating but communicating

A lucky bharal all the while with leopards with overlapping ranges by using marking rocks, boulders adjacent to the tracks with a low overhang against which they rub and spray, sometimes leaving tufts of fur and still moist patches if fresh. To a fellow snow leopard it’s probably the equivalent of a detailed letter of who’s about, what they’ve eaten and whether they are fertile. Skats are commonly found in the vicinity too. After a chilly night (iceberg in the water bottle in the tent) a 6 o’clock start found us up on the knoll above the camp, scouring the ridges opposite where the leopards prefer to sit, surveying their domain and waiting for potential prey. Before long the small army of spotters had found a snow leopard high up and a long way off on the mountain opposite. Amazingly camouflaged against the rocks and almost invisible unless silhouetted or moving they are hard to spot, even with X 60 magnification. If you lost them, usually after jiggling the scope it could be an age to relocate them, the mountainsides lacking many distinguishing features and the downside of the magnification being tunnel vision! I spent many minutes watching a leopard, only to find when it moved it was 20 feet away and I’d been closely observing a rock. Again. Idiot. We watched the snow leopard for a few hours as it in turn watched and waited as an unsuspecting herd of bharal (blue sheep) wove their way across the mountainside below it. Finally it made its move, descending near vertical cliffs to get into position, then a rush, unsuccessful, at the bharal and the excitement was over.

Frozen waterfall with prayer flags on the walk up to Rumbuk (probably the only climbable ice I saw).

A view up the valley to Rumbuk 59

After a chillier night (both water bottles frozen solid inside the tent), disturbed by a blocked nose, partly from a lingering sinusitis Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d brought along and partly dryness and altitude, we were up again before dawn. Walking a bit further up the valley we struck lucky again and watched another leopard a mile away against the skyline

Truck struggling up the steep & very snowy Khardung-La - not much passing room! of the next mountain for a couple of hours while a herd of bharal picked their way across the mountain below, skipping their way across almost sheer cliffs on small edges in spectacular fashion. As the leopard moved down from its lofty perch and began stalking we moved up to a small ridge at around 4000m to observe more closely, leaving unnecessary impedimenta behind, such as my down jacket with my spare batteries in it. It was nice and warm in the sun. It was very chilly when the sun hid behind a cloud and the wind picked up and my camera battery failed. Idiot. Behzad mercifully got a couple of lovely shots but as nothing much seemed to be happening we abandoned ship and watched from the valley floor as the leopard, clearly following a different script, descended further and attacked, and failed. Again the bharal lived to fight another day and the leopard stayed hungry, though it did pose nicely for quite a while after, but too far away for a decent shot and I lacked the energy to climb back up the ridge.

After another very chilly night (registering on my water bottle thermometer again) disturbed by some breathlessness, eased by propping myself up a bit we walked tiredly up the valley to Rumbuk and were lucky to see yesterday’s leopard again as it made its way across the mountaintops on the other side of the valley until it dropped out of view. We called in at a homestay in Rumbuk for tea and on the way back down the frozen riverbed, covered with tracks from leopards, foxes and wolves, a golden eagle flew speedily just overhead in pursuit of a panic stricken and noisy

(Photo: Behzad J Larry)

snow cock; both disappeared over a small spur and were not seen again. Deciding it was time to move on and hearing of a sighting outside the park at Ullay we headed there. The village homestays were full and we ended up at around 4200m, possibly a little higher than ideal. The situation was amazing, the farmhouse set in a cirque of snowy ridges with the best view I’ve ever seen. Unfortunately I woke up at 1am, dreaming that I couldn’t breathe and when I woke up I was right. I couldn’t! Clearing the nose didn’t help much and I couldn’t lie flat. I had a bit of discomfort behind the eyes, especially on looking to the sides which also produced some interesting concentric flashes of light, also eased by sitting up, though without nausea or dizziness so I decided to stay sat up until breakfast rolled around, noticing by then some obvious leg and foot swelling. Owning up to my 61

A matter of some debate, rumour has it nearer 17,700 feet. Still quite high! (Photo Behzad Larry, Voygr.com)

The Nubra valley

Sunset on the mountains from Ullay 62

The confluence of of the muddy Indus and bright blue Zanskar with Behzad and Rashid symptoms and seeing no wildlife we baled out back to Leh for two nights where hot showers were enjoyed and all the symptoms settled. The remainder of the trip revealed no more leopards and no wildlife apart from a few hares and a beautiful red fox (actually a very pale goldish ginger), which crossed the road in front of us and speedily shot up the rocky hillside above. We walked a few miles up towards the Stok-La (La is a pass) with reports of a leopard kill to find the carcass picked clean, though again the snow was littered with predatorsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; tracks. A snowy drive across the Kardhung-La at around 5500m led to the picturesque Nubra valley with its peculiar expanse of sand dunes surrounded by high snowtopped mountains. It was interesting, we found more leopard prints and a lot of petroglyphs, some very ancient and although documented they seem little celebrated, in contrast to how they would be in Europe. Heading back over the pass, by now lumbered with some bronchitis symptoms, we checked our readings on the pulse oximeter at the top of the pass for a laugh. I managed a feeble 70% oxygen saturation - no wonder I had felt knackered trying to help push cars out of the snowdrifts on the way up! I was pleased we carried straight over the pass. Back to Leh for a night of luxury with hot running water, flush toilet (oh, softy Westerner!) and warmth before jetting off.

It was definitely a game of two halves, with brilliant days and unpleasant nights, probably with a bit of mild altitude sickness thrown in. I’m glad I was lucky enough to see the snow leopards in their home territory and every climber, even a paltry boulderer, should at least see the Himalayas if possible. I have major reservations about my acclimatisation and compatibility with such cold dry air for prolonged periods so any thoughts of tackling a modest Himalayan route have been utterly dismissed, even if the creaking knees would cope. Well, they might get me up but I’d never make it down without a helicopter. There again, and I know any mountaineer would be horrified at this observation, there were an awful lot of virgin boulders with a lot of potential scattered along the roadsides, particularly in the Nubra valley….....

Can’t keep off those rocks completely! A little way up towards Stok-La. (Photo: Behzad Larry, Voygr.com)

Caving: climbing’s dirty little sibling (or: what goes down, must come up) Dave Hume

orgive me young climbers, for I have sinned. I’m coming clean here, (for ‘clean’ read ‘dirty’). I’m coming out of the closet (for ‘closet’ read ‘from a dirty hole in the ground’) and admitting that, as a youth in the early 1960s, I was seduced into the underworld by so-called friends. I doubt if many of the fresh and enthusiastic climbing NMC members want to read the nostalgic ramblings of an old codger about crawling around underground, but caving shares some aspects with climbing that I’d like to offer up from my short-lived but intense caving career (Warning – this account uses IMPERIAL measurements). Firstly, it gets you OUTDOORS. Well that’s not strictly true. Two of my early caving partners were Manchester-based coal miners who spent 5 days underground every week and couldn’t wait to get safely back in there at the weekends. This was the Dracula Factor at work – both were uncomfortable being abroad in daylight, and not just abroad even in Yorkshire. Next, caving involves having GEAR to play with. A lamp is essential, which for me began with carbide lamps until I moved on to Nickel-Iron miners’ Carbide lamp lamps or NIFE cells. These had the advantage over carbide lamps of allowing you to actually see where you were going, whereas the main plusses of carbide lamps were that you could keep refilling them as long as you had spare dry carbide and a source of water. They also had the benefit of a naked flame, which I confess to using on the posterior

of a wet-suited University student (female, for the sake of accuracy) who was reluctant to squirm through a tight squeeze in the Long Crawl of Dan-yr-Ogof in South Wales. The flame also enabled you to burn your own hand, it being cold and wet and so took a long time to notice. I did this myself, so it must be true, posing with one hand at the top of a ladder until the burn reached the dampened nerves. The resultant fall and bat-hang by the feet was more p*ss artist than trapeze artist. Other gear of the time included Electron Ladders in handy length rolls, hawserlaid ropes in long lengths, a 20 foot hemp waistline and an ex-WD carabiner (1). An army ammunition box was de rigour to keep your carbide and lunch dry. In some caves you had Pierre Allain descendeur a.k.a. ‘Death Hook’ a lot of stuff to drag around with you. Until we realised how potentially fatal they were, we flirted briefly with the Pierre Allain descendeur, later known as the Death Hook, before opting for a bronze figure of eight, which could reach incredible temperatures on long abseils. Helmets were of course a necessity. Having mentioned wet suits, CLOTHING for caving has no doubt changed radically, much as climbing fashion and functional performance has over the intervening decades. I began with a simple boiler suit over some woolly long johns, progressing to an ex-RAF survival suit, still protected by the boiler suit, and finally to a madeto-measure wet suit. Oh the fun we had drawing lines on each others’ bodies at 2 inch intervals to make the patterns and stick the neoprene pieces together with Bostik and cover it with yellow tape. There was room for personal creativity here – a nice bolero jacket maybe, an up-and-under crotch piece, a sleeveless dungaree, lots of zips and press-studs, like some troglodyte chapter of Hell’s Angels. Then there is TECHNIQUE. Crawling is often under-rated as a technique, and rarely used in climbing these days, except on meeting a famous climbing wad or on a gritstone route put up by J.W. Puttrell (2). In tight spaces, such as the bedding planes of Black Shiver Pot in Yorkshire, it is a question of breathing out first, then

moving a few inches. Repeat the action until you reach somewhere bigger, but can be harder if the bedding plane has water in it. There was a bench seat in the Hill Inn at Ribblehead with a 9-inch gap between seat and back which acted as a test-piece for cavers. Some of you who have had to belay me in recent times would be astonished to learn that I was able to get through that gap on a regular basis. The same pub had a famous traverse around the public bar, so traversing in caves is a common requirement, sometimes over cold and uninviting water - the Green Canal in Dan-yr-Ogof could nearly be traversed successfully and thus nearly staying dry. The infamous Dowber Gill Passage near Kettlewell, requires bridging, traversing, back-and-foot chimneying, slipping, swearing Long crawl, Dan-yr-Ogof and good luck to keep the unwary from misjudging the optimum level in the 80 foot high and half-mile long rift and dropping too far down the near vertical passage and joining the many who have had to be rescued here, some unsuccessfully. There are many areas of boulders in caves, but blatant bouldering is not advised, as most of the boulders are found in piles or boulder chokes of varying stability. Straightforward climbing with hands and feet can also be fun, especially when the rock is covered with thixotropic mud (3) – this has the texture of Swarfega. Climbing is typically downwards until you want to go home, when it becomes upwards. The ability to THRUTCH is a good attribute in a caver. I have personally transferred this skill as my main climbing technique, and my contemporary partners have exploited this by sending me up anything that looks like a greasy, thrutchy, off-width top-out – eg at Wolf Crag. “Go on Dave, you were a caver once, looks like your kind

Dowber Gill

(Photo: Paul Shorrock)

Juniper Gulf ladder (Photo: Ian Davidson)

Boulder choke (Photo: UK Caving)

of route”. B*st*rds. Before the advent of SRT in the 1970s – Single Rope Technique, or abseil and prussik - most vertical pitches were climbed by linking the required number of lightweight ladders together, adding a lifeline for long descents, and climbing back up the ladders. During a trip to the Grotto de Monte Cucco near Gubbio in the Italian Apennines, which proved to have 3 big vertical shafts of 390 feet, 610 feet and 470 feet, we would abseil these while other team members prepared the ladders and lifelines for coming back up, with the help of a hand-held winch at the top of each pitch. We thus invented One-Way-Only Single Rope Technique. Another parallel is the NAMING of caves by first descensionists, or maybe the first surveyors. Magnetometer Pot, Bull Pot of the Witches, Tatham Wife Hole - all beg questions of their origin, others simply reflect their locality – Penyghent Pot, Ogof Ffynnon Ddu (Cave of the Black Spring). Cave features are also named and range from simple descriptors such as Stalactite Chamber or Sludge Crawl, to the esoteric – Gormenghast, the Hall of Justice, the Drop of Doom. The last similarity I’ll venture here is SOCIAL. After getting both scared and elated, wet and muddy, exhausted, and at last safe, being with your mates is great. Drinking may be indulged in, banter will certainly be involved, smug satisfaction or readily-dismissed disappointment may be felt, adrenalin-fuelled reliving of epic moments will be shared, bold plans for the morrow made, and travel to different parts of the country and the world. Pretty obvious stuff then. Now for some DIFFERENCES between caving and climbing. FIRST DESCENTS. When a climber puts up a new route or problem, they name it and record it. A top feeling. When a caver discovers a new passage, not only is he or she the first, it is also the first time that it has been seen by any human being, ever. That is a humbling thought, and it took me by surprise just how momentous a feeling it was when I first experienced it. There are many undiscovered caves and unexplored passages waiting in the world, even in the UK, just as there are crags awaiting development. The difference is that the caves are not yet visible. One of the most recent major UK discoveries was Titan Shaft near Castleton in the Peak District, proving that even at home there are big underground spaces to be found. However, please take extra care when Googling this cave’s name. DARK v LIGHT. It is dark in caves. Darker than any dark you have ever experienced. Think being trapped in a coffin like in Kill Bill. On a week-long underground exploration and survey camp in the far reaches of Dan-yr-Ogof in

South Wales we found our sense of time slipping away each day due to the lack of any change of light. We had watches, but they didn’t override our body clocks which needed some signs of daylight. By the end of a week we were waking up to start our ‘work’ just after midnight and making evening meals by early afternoon. If you switch your lamp off in a cave, the blackness is absolute. TEMPERATURE. When you go climbing it can be hot or cold. In caves it is roughly the same temperature in winter or summer – in the UK that is about 48-50º Fahrenheit (I did warn you about Imperial measures – but say 8-10º C). This makes it easier to track the rising air from unexplored cave sinkholes in snowcovered fells, or help you choose to go somewhere nice and cool in hot weather. Cave water is usually between 40 and 44ºF (47ºC). What few noncavers can understand is that claustrophobic tendencies can be overcome thanks to the fresh cool air found in most caves. Swildon’s Sump 1 In some (Photo: Cardiff UCC) the draught is strong enough to feel like wind. (Suffering from wind in a cave is considered antisocial). If cave air gets stuffy, you may be stuffed. Bring a canary next time. WATER. Some caves have lots of water, either running or still. Water falling from a height hurts your head. Water in the passage you are in gets you wet and scared. Rising water in the cave or passage you are in makes you sh*t yourself. Hydrophobia is more common than claustrophobia among cavers. Climbing up through a waterfall that has trebled in force since you entered the cave brings out the animal in you. Being able to swim is a handy caving skill. The ability to hold your breath as you navigate a ‘sump’ or ‘duck’ without panicking about being in a tight space is also helpful. Example caves where you might need this

are Disappointment Pot in the Gaping Gill system on Ingleborough and Swildon’s Hole in the Mendips. If there is a big downpour while you are underground you might need this aptitude in lots of caves. Six cavers, one of whom I knew, were tragically drowned in Mossdale Caverns near Grassington in 1967 after a major thunderstorm filled the cave despite frantic efforts by rescuers to divert the stream from the entrance. PHOTOGRAPHY. Getting decent photos underground can be helped by having a team setting off flashes at intervals along a passage, but otherwise pretty little close-ups of calcite formations give the easiest results. Who wants to see someone’s bum as they squirm along in front of you, even if you direct a naked carbide lamp flame to it? It’s no better than the frequent bum or head shots we end up taking at the crag. DIRECTIONS. Climbing is up, then you come down. Caving is down, then you come up. That is unless you are doing a ‘through trip’ from one cave system or entrance and coming out of another – Lancaster Hole to Ease Gill Caverns is down, along, and up, and takes a full day, or if you get lost in the 40 miles of passage, a full month. Providence Pot to Dow Cave through the unique Dowber Gill Rift Passage mentioned above is basically in a bit, along a bit, up and down a bit, and up a bit to get out. Or vice versa. If you are lucky you can go down a cave and keep going down or along until you come out lower down the mountain. Like climbing, there are guidebooks to help you find the way. FINESSE. Caving is a burly sport. It’s more like a maul at Twickenham than a carefully laid snooker at the Crucible. Yet it has its moments – crawling through an unstable and creaking boulder choke demands a delicate approach. Climbing a muddy vertical pitch asks for a rare sensitivity. Squeezing through a tight crawl or bedding plane is no place to have an active imagination. Caving and climbing are indeed sibling sports. There is a history of clubs whose names and membership practised both arts. For example, Pete Livesey was a member of the Bradford Pothole Club as he started to make a name for himself as a climber. The physical and psychological demands of each activity are not too dissimilar, but there’s no doubt in my mind that caving is still climbing’s ‘dirty little sibling’. Dave’s caving career lasted a few years before he became too muscular to fit into small spaces. He was a member of the South Wales Caving Club and caved

in Wales, Yorkshire, Derbyshire, the Mendips, France and Italy. In 1969 with Rod Mumford he made the second ever and first British descent of the Monte Cucco system in Central Italy which was at the time the 5th deepest cave in the world at 3050 feet deep (929m). The descent was made on the same day that Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon. He and Rod were simply over the moon, and possibly amongst the people who were further from Neil Armstrong than anyone else at that moment. At one time

Rod Mumford and Dave Hume, 1969

Dave and his caving mates were castigated in the caving press as members of ‘the lunatic fringe’. Nowadays he’d be happy to have a fringe at all.

---------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------Notes (1) WD = ‘War Department’, which was a Government department, one of the functions of which was equipment supply. ‘Ex WD’ kit was sold is such shops as Black’s or Millet’s. The WD eventually beacome the Ministry of Defence. (2) JW Putrell is widely regarded as ‘the father’ of gritstone climbing and caving, putting up new routes and exploring caves and mines (often solo) all over the Peak District and beyond in the late 19th and early 20th Century. (3) Thixotropic: ‘The property exhibited by certain gels of becoming fluid when stirred or shaken and returning to the semisolid state upon standing.’ (thefreedictionary.com). Mix a couple of tablespoons of cornflour with water to a form a thick paste - endless hours of fun experimenting with thixotropy with a spoon will follow.

Many thanks to Tony Greenbank for permission to reproduce this article. You can read (much) more by Tony at: https://www.theguardian.com/environment/series/country-diary+profile/tony-greenbank

Three score years, end of an academic career, feet-up-and-slippers time?.....or be a

Kid in a Sweetshop Lewis Preston

t is the summer of 2015, the end of another academic year, but this time, in the words of Alice Cooper’s famous song ‘School’s out...forever!’

My son Christian and his lass Cora are getting married in Minneapolis, almost midway between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, so why not a coast-to-coast journey to sandwich their celebration? After this, all the adventures not possible when time off was restricted to OUTSIDE University term-time have now become possible. There was a lot of catching up to do, with first ever visits to Kalymnos, several African countries, Mingulay, the Picos de Europa, Pembroke’s sea-cliffs, the Anti Atlas, Tenerife, Rjukan, Kvitavatu, the Ariege Valley in the French Pyrenees and Finland’s southern Lake District and Baltic Archipelago. Summer 2015. USA and Canada, coast-to-coast En route to my son’s wedding Sue and I landed in New York’s JFK airport, took the Subway into Manhattan, and caught the Amtrak downtrain to Washington DC to stay with cousin Cassie. As an architect I’ve always enjoyed the contrast of urban environments and great buildings that comprise man-made cityscapes and the lonely wildernesses and natural landscapes of our planet. We explore Washington DC, New York and Chicago before arriving at the ‘Twin Cities’ of Minneapolis and St Paul in Minnesota for the Anglo-Scandinavian-American wedding. After two weeks I am ready to begin my solo journey west, twenty-four hours by train across the northern states to Montana’s Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park. To hike (or climb) in US national parks one must apply for permits for each designated camping area, some of which only have half a dozen tent pitches. Some can be booked online up to 6 months in advance, leaving a minimal allocation for those (like myself) turning up on the morning of departure at the Park Ranger’s office. I got off the train the night before, shortly after we passed near the Triple Divide, one of the few places on earth where rain falling could find its way to one of three oceans, in this case the Pacific Atlantic via the Gulf of Mexico or the Arctic via Hudson Bay. I queued from 6am ready to determine my route across the Rockies according to where I could secure a series of tent pitches. I then queued for a bus up to the

Lewis on the trail, Glacier National Park

Receding glacier, one of many.... 78

‘Going-To-The-Sun Road’ and begin my walk northwards along the ‘Highline Trail’. One of the lesser known national parks, Glacier National Park was once upon a time studded with 150 glaciers, drastically reduced to 26 by the time of my hike in 2015, and projected to have lost all the remaining glaciers by 2040! My route over the next few days takes me between 8-10,000 foot high peaks, past huge corries, some with receding glaciers, camping in lush valleys or high level on stony ground. At night all food must be hoisted in sealed dry-bags onto provided steel goalposts out of the reach of bears. I carry a small fire extinguisher-sized bear spray with a 30ft range, and although in the end I do not have a bear encounter, I do find fresh, warm scat full of berries on a narrow track through the woods. One morning I wake with an adult deer trying to push its way into my tent, only restrained by 4 foot antlers that are stuck outside the opening!

A walkers’ tunnel! Day 3 in Glacier National Park

The last day’s trail climbs past the multiple cascades of the Palota Falls into an upper corrie containing Sue’s Lake, then over Stoney Indian Pass before the long descent into Waterton Valley and a mosquito-riddled campsite. My walk has brought me to Waterton Lake, straddling the 49th Parallel, and I take the lake launch into Canada, notifying customs by phone, then hitch 250 miles through Alberta and British Columbia to find John Spencer’s pals (from his Edinburgh University days) Ian and Sue Rowe. I have carried personal climbing gear and shoes over the Rockies on the promise (JS-prompted) of some adventures in the Bugaboos with Ian, but he needs some more muscle-power applied to a house extension project, so the Bugaboos must wait for another time.

Top Left: Launch on Lake Waterton Right: House extension work chez Rowe in Golden, BC Bottom right: In Yoho National Park Below: Chris in Yoho NP

Top right: In Yoho National Park Middle: Hello Sailor! At the helm aboard ‘Stravaiger’ off the west coast of Vancouver Island Bottom: Cap’n Ian Rowe, on the fiddle

One day family member Chris and I hike together in Yoho National Park and I learn about First Nation history and the prejudice shown by white Canadians. The final three days of my 6 weeks trip are spent with the Rowes aboard their 40 foot yacht ‘Stravaiger’ (Scots word for ‘wanderer’) exploring the Pacific (west) coast of Vancouver Island. September 2015. Kalymnos and the Dodecanese I have arrived in Kos with Pete Flegg and Liz one week before NMC friends are due, on the way to Kalymnos. Kos Town is a refuge of a tented city (United Nations Refugee Agency, UNHCR) housing Syrians escaping the destruction of their homes and awaiting the opportunity of a ‘normal’, or at least a safer, life in Europe. For we who have secure homes and livelihoods and passports to come and go more or less where we will, it is impossible to know the trauma and loss that those fleeing violence and bereavement must be experiencing. Yet we elect representatives who have probably never witnessed a refugee camp and who have no wish to share our planet’s resources and land more fairly than we do at present. Pete and Liz explored the island of Tilos last autumn and invited me to join their return to experience the chilled-out atmosphere of deserted villages, extensive walking and empty beaches. Some of the secluded coves I swim from have flotsam comprising broken dolls, odd shoes, and tiny as well as adult-sized lifejackets. I am left wondering about the fate of the owners as they crowded onto over-filled inflatables for the perilous sea crossing from Turkey. I travel on alone to the island of Nisyros and meet Manny returning from his job as a cabby in New York City for an annual family visit. He helps me find a hotel, hire

Mount Profitis Ilias rising above the caldera

a motorcycle and together we climb his homeland’s highest mountain, a feat he has never accomplished in his 40+ years! Nisyros is a small but perfectly formed/ re-forming volcanic pertruberance from the Aegean Sea with active hydro-thermal emissions issuing from multiple sub-craters within a giant 2 ½ mile diameter caldera. To access the basin of this I ride the rental motorbike up the perimeter slope from the sea in a violent rainstorm and proceed down a series of zig-zags to the end of the track where a small parking area contains no other vehicles or visitors; it is flooded as the bottom of the caldera is a basin without a ‘plughole’. The rain has stopped and the sun provides solar warming that compliments the steam and gaseous connection to our earth’s thermal resource. I am completely alone Manny, on the way up for the next few hours as clambering into the crumbling pits of Stefanos, Polyvotis and Logothetis. Some 2000ft above, the summit of Mount Profitis Ilias rises vertically from the main caldera. The next day I ferry to, and traverse Kos, to find a bus to Masthari for my first visit to the fabled climbing mecca of Kalymnos. Much has appeared in these pages from previous pioneering forgaes of NMC members; all I can add is that the hype is totally justified! What a paradise playground of natural climbing delights awaits virgins like I was, or annual returnees that cannot get enough. Each evening there is a choice of beers in open-air bars, or swimming in a bath-warm ocean – or both – before scoffing and yarning into the sunset. My flight home is a couple of days after the group’s so I solo explore the backbone of the island, combining two days of Carl Dawson’s ten-day Kalymnos Trail before a final chill-out day on san isolated beach on Telendos. Spring 2016. Over the sea to Mingulay. One of the highly persuading factors in the decision to quit my University post when

Above: Steam and sulphurous deposits 84

Above: The usual suspects, Kalymnos

Bottom Left: Tufa city

Bottom Right: Typical tough terrain on the Kalymnos Trail 85

I did was the opportunity to make a 3 months road-trip across Southern and East Africa with old NMC pals Sarah ‘Uberschnell’ Follmann and Nick Quarta (see County Climber Winter 2016). On return, and between some caring work duties, it was time to anticipate the dream I’d longed for, longer even than Kalymnos: Mingulay. Every year in late May, when the University fever infected and support for students in melt-down reached crisis levels, NMC folk, often led by Cap’n Tim Catterall, went on pilgrimage to the Outer Hebrides, to the magic isle of Mingulay. One year I even went solo to Colonsay for the weekend and watched the Barra ferry set sail from Oban with the ‘Ming’ team waving from the observation deck! And so it came to pass, eventually, I too was on the Barra ferry, together with five others – previous NMC teams had numbered between 12 and 24, so this was a

The Mingulay posse aboard MV ‘The Boy David’ daringly minimal group heading out to be self-sufficient for a week on uninhabited Mingulay. The Calmac ferry ‘Isle of Lewis’ sailed across a millpond to Barra with a trail of playful dolphins surfing our wake. By evening we have followed the Hebridean chain south in Donald Macleod’s small launch, ‘The Boy David’, to land and establish our wild camp on the headland south of the only sandy cove on the island. I go for a solo explore up to the highest point, Carnan, and beyond to the fabled west coast cliffs. The daylight lasts for ever. I return to my two-man tent where companion John Stockdale (not-NMC) has wizarded a great, late feast. Next day the entire team – Caroline and Mike, Tim and Kenny (also not-NMC, although he probably qualifies for honorary membership having attended many an NMC meet

Landing on the rocks, Mingulay Bay and climbed with many members), and John and I â&#x20AC;&#x201C; head together to Guarsay Beag for my first taste (I am the only Ming virgin!) of immaculate Lewisian gneiss. We are not completely alone all week. Four kayakers have beached after a long paddle from Barra and have camped down below us near the deserted village. They explore the islandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s rugged coast and leave after 2 nights. In addition we get to know Laura who is spending the summer recording numbers of Bonxies (the dive-bombing, ground-nesting thuggish Great Skua) and other species on the island; but more about Laura and what happened next in Part 2......To be continued in the next issue!

The

Phil Be

e Human Factor

ehan

Joe McCarty, not in any way posing, above the Vallee Blanche (photo: Clare White)

e’ve all heard old adages like “There’s old climbers and there’s bold climbers” but what do we really mean? I think we need to talk about human factors, and soon.

As some will know, I’m an anaesthetist. The topic of so-called ‘Human Factors’ has become vogueish in my field and is being taken up into working practices at an impressive rate. As with all things taken up by the NHS, we practise a fairly esoteric set of guidelines, but it has sown the seeds of a new interest in me. Work on human factors centres largely around increasing safety through optimising our performance and reducing the risk of harm to people. These factors include both the behaviour of individuals, and how they interact with others and their environment. Key elements include communication, teamworking, situational awareness, being alert for cognitive biases that may cloud judgement, working with checklists, and so on. Climbing and mountaineering can be a high-stakes sport in which errors can have big consequences. I think that, as in the medical field, an awareness of how we make errors and manage risk can make us safer and prevent accidents on the mountain. I am not ashamed to admit that in 25-plus years of mountaineering I have had my fair share of accidents. I’ve also seen some pretty horrific things in the mountains and I’m lucky to be around to write this article today. Looking back at all the big accidents I’ve had anything to do with, one thing connects them all: they were potentially preventable, but that’s not to say that bad decisions were made or that dangerous practice was always involved, though often better situational awareness and decision-making may have helped. I thought I would share four of the incidents I’ve been involved in from which I think lessons can be learned in the context of human factors. I appreciate there are other issues at play in each and would not pretend to have it all sewn up. See these more as examples to plant the seeds of thought… Seeing the big picture My first example is from my own experience. About five years ago, I set out solo to

do Beinn Achaladair and Beinn a’ Chreachain, two Munros above Bridge of Orchy, in full-on winter conditions. It snowed from the car to the top of the first peak. which was in whiteout. The air got colder and I was starting to feel it. I descended along my intended route towards Beinn a’ Chreachain to get down out of the weather. On the lower slopes, it became apparent that I was very committed to this descent as the snowpack was way more unstable than the avalanche forecast had predicted. By the time I had slowly picked my way down to the col – and put on more layers – I was in the throes of hypothermia: I was stiff and slow, I fell several times, as my legs cramped; I had even stopped shivering. My safest Seeing the bigger picture escape was over the next top and dropping down to the north, but it felt like a monumental effort in which I fell and cramped up several more times. At no point during this day did one thing happen that I hadn’t dealt with a hundred times before – that is, until I got cold. I had a goal that day: I was pretty determined to get two Munros done, so each time something changed I saw a problem to be dealt with, rather than a warning of worse to come. Looking at the bigger picture, a lot had changed in a couple of hours, but weighing each decision one at a time, each time it felt safe to go on. Being focussed on the task at hand and not challenging my biases about what I could cope with drove me unwittingly into peril. I’m happy to say that I now view small changes in the conditions differently. I consider my decisions by looking at the course of the whole day rather than at each step along the way; I fight the fixation on details that comes with a technical task in order to see what else is going on. We are our own worst enemies.

My second example is from when I was about five years old. I was standing on the slabs at the end of Sharp Edge on Blencathra with my family. A group of teenagers were making their way down the back wall towards us while their group leader was stopped watching with us. One child caught my eye; I now recognise what I saw was that unbalanced crouching of someone feeling the pressure on poor ground. He had moved steadily off the normal line onto grassy slopes where he felt more secure. Then the grass gave away. He fell, bouncing and dropping out of sight into

Strong leadership the gully below. Despite being well over thirty metres below us, the sounds were as clear as day, as was the difficult and intricate rescue that followed. I now know that hill like the back of my hand and Sharp Edge was in fact my favourite route as a kid, because if we did it we also had time to go climbing afterwards! I know the ground that the lad was on is rubbish, but the interesting thing is that he evidently felt safer there. Fear and concern can cloud our judgement; in this case Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sure part of the situation occurred when the teenager had found more familiar surrounds on readily available (but less secure) grass rather than the technical rocky ground he found less familiar. His awareness was impacted by his fear which also had him moving out of balance and more likely to slip. Framed by his perception, the ladâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s decisions probably seemed completely logical. The group leader was watching - to a certain extent group/team dynamics

play a role here too, although I would not blame anyone for anything that happened. If at a young age I was aware something was off then I’m sure I wouldn’t have been the only one. Different leadership in this situation could have changed the outcome; an approachable and aware leader who communicated well with the lad may have been able to alter his course despite his misgivings about being on rock.

Careful planning

Reflection, growth and change My third example is my own brother. He is more lucky to be alive than either of us in the two previous examples. My family were out in full winter conditions on Helvellyn one Easter when I was eight and he was sixteen. To put this in context, my parents had had to order my crampons from Switzerland as there were none in my size stocked in the UK suitable for what we regularly did. That year’s conditions were particularly good and we were on a fine traverse of the edges. Descending Swirral Edge I was roped to my dad and we were chatting away, passing the usual traffic. My brother was with my mum about twenty metres behind: they were stuck behind the traffic. He was not using his axe as he got to the bottom of the edge where we had been scrambling through rocks mostly. On a narrow, flat section he was distracted by the traffic, and tripped. We turned to my Mum’s shriek and watched as that trip took him off the north side of the ridge. After 300 metres of tumbling and sliding he stopped. To our relief when he reached the bottom he stood up - and promptly fainted. My Dad did probably

the earliest known impression of one of Ueli Steck’s alpine speed records to reach my brother and walked him out while we went ahead to call an ambulance (remember this was well before mobile phones were common in the hills). His injuries were limited to twenty percent skin loss and a severe mistrust of winter mountaineering. It would be easy to criticise here. My brother didn’t have his axe to hand and my parents had two children out on a mountain well know for killing people in snowy conditions. I don’t think either is warranted; there were many more less fit, less experienced, less well-equipped mountaineers walking safely on the same path. It was not unsafe for us to be there, but a series of unchecked events allowed the accident to occur; principal among these was a simple trip at the worst possible moment. Error is inevitable when working with humans and accepting this is powerful. The useful thing to learn from an accident like this is to think how we can prevent those errors being able to cascade into ‘the perfect storm’. Distractions like traffic on the mountains can really disrupt your concentration on your own climbing. It can be easy to lose your situational awareness or get impatient; both can lead to errors in decision-making (like not having you axe out when you need it again). I think my parents had actually been quite wise; each parent was accompanying one of their children and there was a rope on the child most likely to be a problem (me, and I probably still am!). We had also stuck together over the more difficult ground. At the point of my brother’s fall we were at the classic point of relaxation that comes after an intense period of concentration. As a family we have reflected at length on how we would stop events like this occurring again and come to our own conclusions. Importantly we talk about it and plan our responses to future situations. It may feel silly, but safety-critical industries such as aviation and nuclear power have briefings before new tasks, or even just at the start of an average day. Defining roles and anticipating hazards within a group really can help to reduce the chances of error. This is something we kind of do in climbing in the pub the night before, but I have increasingly often tried to have a more explicit and structured chat before a big day or taking on something new. Systems and failures The last example comes from my teens in Italy. I was with my parents on a climbing holiday in the Dolomites. On this particular day we’d chosen to do a via ferrata. We chose a fun route, but a long and strenuous one, up Piz Boé, which is a modest peak by local standards, standing at a mere 3150m. We were climbing

well and making good time on a route that was forecast to take several hours, and our small team acquired a German girl left behind by her group.

Debriefing at the pub Approaching a large ledge on the cliff we heard loud groaning from above us. Arriving at the ledge we discovered the source of the noise: a man was lying below a section of steep, traversing cable higher up. Over the next few minutes, his fellows kept him warm while a helicopter sped to our location to recover him. It appeared that the man had the correct kit on and it was undamaged, which led us to the conclusion that he fell while unattached to the cable. This seems like a pretty obvious lesson and many would dismiss this as a stupid mistake; the guy should have been clipped on. My question is: why was he not? The answer is always the same ‘haste’. We naturally take short cuts that we’ve learnt over time make life easier. In time, what was once a calculated risk becomes a bad habit that exposes us to frequent risk of error. To learn from other situations in which small errors can be catastrophic, we can learn from how the airline industry heavily checklists its processes or how systems are automated in the nuclear industry to reduce human input. Climbing awards teach safe practice like checking each other’s knots and carabiners (“squeeze the cheese” and all that). We need to be vigilant that we don’t slip into habits that allow errors to occur, but at the same time not be consumed by the checks and rechecks that can distract from the task at hand. There is undoubtedly a balance to be found. 95

Joe McCarty in ‘full Scottish’ conditions......on the Petite Aiguille Verte

In alpine environments, we move together on easier ground and accept that this introduces small risks of falling, with the benefit of moving quicker and avoiding greater potential problems. Over the course of a day moving quicker can help avoid getting benighted or falling foul of a melting bridge over a crevasse. In the end, this fall probably occurred from overconfidence, another common cause of error in climbing. The gentleman may have believed that not clipping-on in the standard way was fine, because he was a good climber who would not fall. Cognitive dissonance can play a role in these instances too; people minimise their perception of risks because to think about the hazard is stressful, bad for their self-image and inhibits (particularly short-term) goal achievement. Almost everyone pretends that their habits and biases have a much smaller chance of negative outcomes than they truly do. Risky business Discussing risk brings us back to those old climbers and the formerly-bold climbers. Risk is something we cannot eliminate completely; we will make mistakes and events will conspire against us. It’s my belief that we can operate safely in risky environments and do bold things if we take the steps we need to accept, recognise and prevent error where possible. This may be on über hard trad routes,

exposed alpine arĂŞtes or simply on a route youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve done a hundred times in Northumberland. Awareness, decisionmaking, team work, practising our techniques and streamlining the processes we use are key skills we all know we should work on. This is also how we avoid falling foul of error. With the right approach a bold climber (as opposed to a careless or overconfident one) should be able to become both a bold and an old climber!

---------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------

Phil and Joe enjoying a well-earned drink (a.k.a. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;debriefing) in the Torino Hut

Have you sent us a ‘postcard’ yet? EVERYONE HAS SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT, WHATEVER THEIR LEVEL OF EXPERIENCE AND ALL CONTRIBUTIONS TO COUNTY CLIMBER ARE WELCOME!

Whether about rock-climbing (trad or sport), bouldering, winter climbing or hill-walking, or indeed anything to do with ‘the great outdoors’, especially Northumberland. Contributions from new members are particularly welcome. It doesn’t have to be a ‘story’ either, so for example a report about a visit to a new location, or a new take on an old one would fit the bill. Reviews of guides or books, films or festivals are welcome. From time to time people submit mainly photographs (see below) accompanied by only the briefest of text, and these can be published as a ‘photo-essay’. And don’t limit yourself to prose in responding to your inner muse - poems are also welcome. The Editor would be happy to discuss ideas for articles, comment on rough drafts, or work with you to produce the finished article. You could even send us a real postcard if you wanted! Regarding photographs, please send as high a resolution as possible, although photos, depending on format, may need to be resized. If you are using other peoples’ photos in your article, please ensure you have sought permission. Please contact the Editor at and/or send submission to: john.spencer@ncl.ac.uk 98

COUNTY CLIMBER twitter.com/The_NMC www.facebook.com/thenmc www.thenmc.org.uk magazine@thenmc.org.uk