I was almost up to my knees in extremely cold water, and as I looked around I realised my bag and camera were floating down the not so frozen waterfall. The ice had crumbled beneath our feet. We, (Richard Harrison, Pete MacDonald and I) were at the base of Cautley Spout, a 250-meter, grade-3 ice climb in the Yorkshire Dales. I had changed my mind thinking my plastic boots with knee-high gaiters were a bit excessive. Pete was not so lucky. His soggy feet would plague him for the rest of the climb. The morning sun was quickly warming the hillside and it became apparent that this waterfall wasn’t going to be around much longer. Cautley Spout comes into condition once every 10 years, and we were the first of a string of teams about to climb.

Pete got the first pitch. It was about 40 meters. The climbing was delicate, on beautifully formed cauliflower shaped ice, though protection placed was more for psychological confidence than holding falls. The route was rapidly changing shape as Pete was climbing, and as water broke through the ice, was forced to re-think his direction. He moaned something about getting wet! Tenko and I found this quite amusing and laughed as we mentioned something about waterfalls being wet. It was a photogenic pitch with a heart pounding finish. The last few moves were performed on very steep, unconsolidated, crappy, deteriorating ice with an exposed step out onto a rather dodgy looking ice mushroom. It was only possible to finish by matching both hands on one axe in a thin runnel of ice. (And praying to God it held). The seriousness, of course didn’t compare for us seconding. What a gnarly lead for Pete!

Next was my turn to take the lead. I started up a short 15m section of ice, steep to start and then panned out half way to large steps. It looked like thick, hard ice from the bottom. It wasn’t. It turned out to be thin with a fully operative waterfall an inch beneath. My mind started to drift to a story that Tenko had told me. It was a similar situation where a piece of ice the size of a door had collapsed with him on it, due to the thin ice. I quickly dismissed this thought, reverted my mind to the job in hand and made my way up to a nice big tree.

Tenko took the lead, “when the rope pulls tight, you two climb”, he said and took off quickly. Soon the rope was tight. We shouted for him to stop, he didn’t hear. We dismantled the belay and were practically dragged up the waterfall by a very eager Tenko. We gathered at the bottom of a steep section. Same drill, “follow when tight”. Tenko was off, no time to smell the roses. Tenko wanted to get to the top! This time we were stopped by a more significant section of ice, a good 40m steep wall. STOP, BELAY, GO! He stopped to put in a warthog and a couple of screws and climbed the pitch in no time at all.

The waterfall continued to meander up a scar in the hills for another 150m with the odd steep section to provide interest. To our surprise it presented us with another 50m pitch. This time I got to lead a decent pitch. It started off on nice solid ice up to a ledge with some awkward moves that had me scrabbling around on my knees. Now I had to climb a wall that became a lot more imposing than it did from the ground. I quickly screwed in a hefty 20cm screw in a big chunk of ice and started to climb. I had made a few moves, when “aaarrghh, b@!locks!” the shoulder strap of my rucksack caught on my harness and SNAP! I tried to tie it up, but was irritated by fixing it, so I left it undone. I just wanted to climb! I climbed about 10m to where some beautiful hard ice awaited a screw. My dreams were cut short. The ice had deteriorated into utter crap under a sheet of shiny blue ice. I chopped around for an eternity trying to dig away enough to find a placement. I had to accept that I would not get the luxury of a good screw and headed to the top. The last move was nasty. I couldn’t trust the axe placements to pull me over the top no matter how many times I sent them in. My arms were weakening. I just had to suck it up and make the move. I decided to kick away a good step to transfer my weight onto my right foot and barely load my axes. With anticipation and adrenaline pumping I slowly moved across, a fall here would be… no, don’t think about it.

Relief! I did it! I’d done the hard bit. I should have stopped here where I could communicate with my team and belay from a sheltered alcove. But I didn’t. I looked up and saw another wall of ice. Hard, blue and shiny. It had been two years since I’d climbed on ice and these conditions are rare in this country. I couldn’t relinquish my tools just yet. I carried on to almost a rope length, flopped to the floor in a wasted heap, worn out by the flow of adrenaline and recovering from a dose of swine flu. I hammered in a couple of pitons and sat belaying on what was probably the windiest place on earth. I got hammered in the face by violent spindrift and couldn’t hear a thing from anyone.
Soon enough, my companions joined me. We shook hands and shared a great sense of happiness that anyone who’s had a good day out in the mountains can understand.

Richard Goodey

Isle of Skye

This year we decided to escape for the Christmas break, although as the weather worsened prior to Christmas we were regretting planning such a long drive! We woke on the 24th to blizzards in Yorkshire and a recommendation not to travel, so we set off anyway. Yorkshire had the worst of it and by the time we hit the M6 the weather and the roads were clear. We made the cottage by tea time and well ready for a trip to the local.

Christmas Day -  With blurry eyes we dragged ourselves out of bed and into the car, our goal was Blabheinn before Christmas dinner!
The car thermometer showed -7C and as the sun came up there was not a cloud in the sky. The going was slow and as we headed up to the first corrie, plenty of snow, big patches of ice on the path and loads of hoar frost. Hoar frost crystals are created by vapour rising up from layers of deposited snow and then freezing on the surface, quite rare and very beautiful, also a precursor to a high avalanche risk when more snow falls on top! We reached the summit at 2.30pm and were treated to some of the most stunning views I have ever seen in Scotland. We could see as far as Assynt in the North, Rum in the West and the Nevis range in the South East. One problem! It was too cold to loiter and now we were all thinking about Christmas dinner! So down we went, powder snow cushioning every step. Just time for a pint of Red Cuillin in the pub, dinner was cooked and eaten by 8pm, what a day!

A big thanks do Dolly and Frank for sorting the accommodation.

Looking forward to the next trip!

Simon

Would you book a winter mountaineering course twelve days before Christmas ?
Nah !  Shortest days, weather probably naff,  often no snow anyway.

And so it was, that on one of the finest winter days in recent years, and after a cool minus 6 or so at the A9 bothy, we strolled into Coire an t’Sneachda, to find it largely empty.

Here’s to none-booked courses and Christmas shopping trips !  A few teams were out playing, but the trade route of Aladdins Couloir – so often a spiders web of ropes -was utterly deserted. Totally ours.

On this brilliant morning of windless blues skies, freezing and clear, hard frozen snow covered the coire floor and all the face was white.  No hurries, no worries, then.

We took a little time to try some self-arrest with the axes:- a brief reprise for Carlos and Helen, but an essential intro for Brian on his first technical winter day.
We put the rope on to move together up the snow apron below Aladdin Buttress, the snow being so hard you could hardly kick a step.
I set off up the Couloir with Adam and Brian on a pair of 9mils:- followed by Paul who led Helen and Carlos. The six of us made leisurely progress up hard frozen snow, but completely uninterrupted by any other climbers at all !!

At the top of the Couloir proper, the usual finish is the rising traverse across the top of Aladdins Mirror, with a bit of gear half way. This looked exposed given the hardness of the snow, so I was tempted by small steps made a day or two earlier, going more steeply left to the plateau.
Hmm ! After a nut and a peg, this option reared up for a final 3 or 4 metres of high angle, too hard today to sink the shafts in, yet not strong enough to bear the picks. Oh dear. After a wee teeter, I made sure of a bomber sling on a big boulder for a top anchor !!

Shortly, we were all on the plateau, gazing awestruck at the views as the sky turned orange over Ben McDhui.

Hats off to Brian, upon completing his first winter climb at age 63. !! It was also first climb day for Helen too.

Headtorches got us finally down to the cars, the bar at the Monadliath Hotel, and a long road,  white with heavy frost,  to General Wade’s bothy, where bags of firewood and coal fought back the minus 7 temperatures outside.

Sunday was a baggin’ day for Paul. Geal Charn, on the doorstep of the bothy.   Another wonderful cold sunny morning.
A track up Glen Markie led into the eastern corrie (after an interesting bit of river crossing) and upwards onto easy snow slopes.

Finally, over the last rim to the summit ………. and WOW !!

Its not a big hill at 926 metres, but on this superb day, what marvellous views. Westwards, the Big Ben lurked behind Craig Megaidh’s plateau, Ben Alder to the south, the Gorms all grouped to the east, and northwest, Fannaichs, Torridon, Fisherfield in row upon row of snow covered peaks.

This amazing sight kept us gazing for about 40 minutes.

Another Munro notched up for Paul……. and a First munro for Carlos. Hurrah !

Finally, tearing ourselves away, we had just time to walk down again before darkness gathered.
And so, to some Ballinluig Cafe nosh and tea, and away home again.

“hore zdar !” we all said……..meaning “mountain success” (says Adam).

Andrew