© J A D Healey 2014
I had 'elevenses' at 10.30, although I wasn't very hungry and then caught the 11.11 to Victoria. I had plenty of time to register my skis, and buy a boat train ticket to Folkestone (my ticket was from Folkestone to St. Anton) before making my way to the train, where Cecily was already waiting. She had found a set in an unreserved carriage, full of Italians. I travelled opposite Inghams man, an amateur courier. Cecily and I had both banked on having a meal on the train, but we were unlucky, as the train was very full, the places on the diner had been booked in advance. I spent the time to Folkestone getting hungrier and hungrier. On the boat ("Maid of Orleans") we made our way straight to the restaurant where we were able to get Ham and Eggs. The Channel wasn't quite the millpond I am used to, but it wasn't very bad, besides it was such a short crossing. At Calais we boarded the Basle train – the 1st and 2nd class part goes right through to Austria, but the 3rd class passengers have to change at Basle. In the train we found that our reserved seats were in a carriage full of Inghams travellers. I disapproved of this, but it had the advantage that we could re-arrange luggage etc. and get comfortable for the night. Before this, however, we had a nice break in the restaurant car. These international Wagon Lit restaurants with the blue china will never lose their glamour.
The set meal cost 600 fr. but we spent considerably more, we started with an aperitif (St. Raphael) etc. Sitting at our table were the little courier and a younger boy. The latter turned out to be of New Zealand origin and, although he had only spent 6 weeks in New Zealand, he and Cecily seemed to know all the same people and places, and I began to see what she meant when she told me what a small place New Zealand was.
Back in the carriage we settled down for the night. The cases were brought down from the racks to fill in the spaces between the seats, and the Scots girl got up onto one rack, and I put my sleeping bag on the other and got up on it. I wasn't asleep, but was very happy until the ticket collector came round. "Voulez vous descendez?", he said and then went out to disorganise the next carriage. We did nothing, wondering whether he was bluffing, but he was soon back with a much more imperative "Descendez vous" and he didn't seem taken in by my very innocent enquiry, "Do you speak English?" We realised that there was no sense in having the whole carriage woken up at intervals all through the night, so we got down. There was no sign of the ticket collector for some time, so eventually I got back on the rack. No sooner was I up, then the door opened and one word was shouted at me, "Descendez". I stayed down after that!
At about 6 o'clock we pulled into Basle station, and shouldered our rucksacks, which we carried through the customs to the Swiss side, and down and across to no. 3 platform (I think) from where our train was due to leave in about an hour's time. We spent that hour in the 3rd class Buffet. We felt that we had gate crashed back into the evening before, when we were greeted by the sound of singing, accompanied by an accordion. We had breakfast of rolls and butter and hot chocolate and, after some time, the two men at our table began to speak to us in French. When we got up to go, one of them pinned on my glove a most lovely copper coloured souvenir of Basle Carnival 1951.
It seemed a long run through Switzerland, as is always the case the morning after. I hadn't even my map to watch our progress along by the Zurichsee and the Wallensee. Soon we left the line to Chur and approached Lichtenstein and the border at Buchs and Feldkirch on the Austrian side. This time the officials came round the train. Soon after this we broke the monotony by making our way along to the Restaurant for the first lunch, for which we had nice time before St. Anton. Even as far as Langan, although there was plenty of snow on the peaks, there was none near the railway, but after the Arlberg tunnel, everything was covered, and the brilliant sunshine made St. Anton appear everything which could be desired for winter sports. We left our luggage at the station and made our way down to the main street where, outside the Gasthaus Post, Cecily asked someone if they knew where we could get a bed. They replied that all the hotels were full, but that they were at the Jagerheim, four houses past the Schwarzer Adler, and they thought there was some more room there. We soon found the place and were shown a room with running hot and cold water, and a balcony, which we took for a few days. They fetched down our rucksacks and also our skis which had arrived by this time. We soon had our skis out, carried them across the railway and tried them out on some lower nursery slopes; I didn't feel very at home on them. We soon tired of that, and called in at the tea shop, despite asking for a large pot, the tea was served with lemon – I quite enjoyed it, but I felt that it resembled lemonade rather than tea. The 'patisserie' definitely weren't up to the Swiss or French standards. Our chief complaint about the tea shop (besides the price!) was that it was too English, and they spoke so loudly!
Back at the Jagerheim we had the baths we had ordered – the shower device was lovely for finishing off with cooler water – and then went to the station buffet for our evening meal (the Jagerheim had no dining room). I was glad to get to bed that night and wasn't too hot after I had taken the duvet off.
It was fun ringing the bell in the morning and waiting for breakfast to appear. I usually had mine when I was partly dressed, Cecily preferred hers in bed. The proper table had no room for the tray, so we had it on the little bedside table.
It was a lovely day, and when it came to skiing we determined to practice on our own instead of joining the ski school, and we bought a book of tickets for the lift and went up on it. While queuing I sat down twice on the very hard snow. Both Cecily and I did the same silly thing while waiting for the anchor, we both put our sticks together and then couldn't get up the little rise. However, the man pulled us up. I was pleased to discover that I had lost all my dread of these appliances - I saved it all for the thought of the run down, for it looked very steep! At the top there seemed quite a large area in which to turn, and then I went round to the right of the tree to avoid the steep run down. The traverse was all to the right, i.e. on my left foot, but it wasn't very easy, despite this, and, in the middle of a long traverse, I'd have to stop to rest my legs. My turns were very brilliant so I traversed as far as I could and then back where I met Cecily who hadn't enjoyed her turns, directly down. We continued right to the end of the run from the teleferique and this was easier; there was one lovely little valley where one went to and fro, stem-christying as one turned up the sides, I had been a little in front of Cecily at the bottom and I waited for her by the teleferique station. When she didn't appear I went back to the ski lift and found that she had found her way back there. We went up a second time; this time Cecily did my long traverse, but at the end we came more directly down to the start of the ski lift. Cecily didn't think there was anything wrong in this, but I found it far too steep. In fact, I was thoroughly ashamed of this second run, for I seemed to have learned nothing. Cecily was definitely improving and she horrified me with her enthusiasm, for she insisted on going up a third time.
This time it wasn't quite as bad, but I refused to go up another time, my excuse was that I must get my basket fixed on my stick, and in the end I found that Cecily hadn't bothered to go up again. We met at the railway station for lunch and, in the afternoon, made our way to the teleferique station. While waiting for our turn, we studied the plan, and Cecily was able to find out that St. Christoph made an easy run. In the cage I was able to get in the front, and watch where we went, first of all over the nursery slopes, where we had come down that morning, and then up the spur of a hill where there was a clearing in the trees, making an incredibly steep ski run – the Ostung, the most difficult from Galzig. The last part of the run was the most sensational, overhanging a ravine.
At Galzig we carried our skis up a few hundred feet to the summit of the little mound, and then put them on and started down. Cecily had far more sense than I, she kept to the east, and found powder; I kept to the south and found crust, and was an age getting down, and then the trouble was that I didn't know where Cecily was; however, I saw her eventually miles below, and she wasn't at all impatient when I eventually reached her. We followed the yellow and blue signposts until they separated, and then we followed the yellow ones to St. Christoph.
There was a wonderful trough leading down and, as it faced north, the snow was in perfect condition. The angle was just about right for me to practice stem christies, and I was thoroughly enjoying it, for the first time that day, when I fell giving a slight wrench to my right ankle. My trouble all the holiday was that I had a perfect ankle complex – I knew that if I hurt my left ankle (as last year), I should be able to do nothing, as it was my best one, I was also very afraid for my right one, as it hadn't quite recovered from its jarring a month before.
After my fall I could do nothing for a few minutes, and all the rest of the day I was trying to save it; I was so afraid it would be stiff the next day (actually I needn't have worried). While I was practically walking down in that lovely snow, I saw Cecily start to walk up, and for a moment I was afraid that she had thought that I had hurt myself; however, I soon learned that St. Christoph was a cul de sac as far as skiing to At. Anton was concerned, and that we had to follow the blue signposts to St. Anton. After a few easy slopes, we got to a glade in a wood, where Cecily did her turns very nicely. In my demoralised state, I side-slipped the whole way down. I think at any time I should find it far too steep for turning. Steep as that was, we found that that was the easier part of the run down, for at the bottom the snow was so bad, the sun was hot, and the runs very fast, and the unpacked snow was crusted. Cecily had soon had enough of it and, when we saw the road below us, we eventually made for it. A few yards from it my ski came off, so like Cecily I arrived on foot. We reached the road at Mooser Kreuz which, we were to learn from the advertisement at St. Anton, was a first class hotel.
We had some hot chocolate and a slice of torte each and the bill was about three English shillings each; I think it was soon after this that I became practically allergic to the torte (it always appeared at the railway buffet as the sweet); definitely Austrian 'patisserie' can't be compared with that of France and Switzerland. Music was supplied, but this only made me sorry that there weren't more people in the place. We went by road to St. Anton; fortunately I met no traffic, for the sitzmach is the only way I seem able to stop on a fast icy road.
At St. Anton we visited the ski school and suggested that we should like a guide to take us up a little peak, explaining that our ability uphill was greater than it was downhill. I suggested that I should like to do Valluga, but "blue eyes" (as I christened the chief guide) said that the descent was rather difficult, and suggested instead the Schindlerspitz (2645m) and said that a guide would be waiting at the Seilbahn station at 9.45 a.m. That evening we ate at the gasthof post – we weren't particularly impressed. Cecily was able to understand the conversation of the others at our table. They considered it expensive, and said they thought the Tyroller Bar better.
We started having a shopping expedition up the main street, to collect provisions for lunch. Half-way up I remembered that I had meant to bring my new cable, so I went back for it leaving Cecily to do the rest of the shopping. At the Seilbahn station, I got the tickets and was introduced to our guide (Hermann Tchol) while Cecily bought wax for her skins, and had safety straps fastened to her skis. Our ticket number had gone, but Hermann was able to get us on, through the reserved places turnstile. At Galzig we shouldered our skis to the first hump and then had a very gentle run down before it was time to stop and put on skins. I got out my new cable, but it was Hermann who put it on for me, he also put on one of my skins and finally did up my binding – the sort of thing that I say never happens to me! After he had waited on Cecily and me, we had to watch him put on his own skins, so he suggested that, if we liked, we could start up. He spoke in German, but this was one of the rare occasions when I excelled myself by being the first to understand it (or guessing what he was likely to say).
The day had been a little overcast, but I carried my camera ready, I was so sure it would turn out sunny (I never learn). We went to the right of the Ulmer butte, up the steeper slopes to the Joch, and then up the final slopes to the top. I found the way too steep; the snow was a little icy, and my skins didn't seem to hold (a bad workman I suppose). I was struggling along in the rear, sidestepping and pushing myself up with my sticks (I had a blister on my hand, after that, and it confirmed my impression that strong arms are a great asset to a skier). Just before the top we took off our skis and continued up on foot.
Back at the skis we had lunch, moving round to the east side, out of the wind. Hermann made a little bench with his skis, which we sat on. We watched the top of Schindler; it was lovely, with its cornice, just asking to be photographed, but the sun never came out, in fact it started to snow very gently. When it came to taking off our skins, we found a nice lot of ice on our bindings, and by the time we were ready I was quite cold, for there was a bitter wind round this side; however, there is nothing like a little skiing to warm me up, and we set off down the east side. (The way we had come up had been quite steep, and with soft snow which was not firmly attached to the ice beneath.) The snow to the joch was lovely, but after that, to the west it was crusted and, with the visibility being bad, I put up a very poor show. I didn't try to do more than traverse and kick-turn, but the traversing wasn't so easy in that snow. Eventually, we got down by the Ulmer Hutte where the snow was better, but the visibility didn't improve. I knew that it was ridiculously easy by the time we got to the bed of the valley, but I got rather left behind, and for the next part we joined the Kandahar, for the tracks through the woods. I found these far too fast; I couldn't stem to go slow enough and, when it came to a turn, I usually preferred to side-slip.
Eventually we were on the lower familiar slopes and, by about 4.30 we were in the ski school to discuss future plans and to pay up (£2 for the two of us). Hermann told "blue eyes" that he'd recommend that we spend a day or so in the ski school; it would do us good. I hardly needed Cecily to translate – he said that Cecily did middling christies, but as for me, I'd better go in the snow plough class. Fortunately, I saw the funny side of it, especially after seeing "blue eyes" face at the thought of someone coming down Schindler if they couldn't even snow plough. After this I must also quote that he said that I side-slipped very well, but I must learn to bend my knees when I snow ploughed.
Our next call was the station buffet for milk. While we were drinking it, the man at the next table spoke to me. He asked me whether I had been with Eileen Austin in Zermatt in 1949. I told him that I had spoken to her for about 5 minutes in the main street of Zermatt that year, but I soon felt that he had only spoken to me as an excuse to meet Cecily. Mr. Fox was an A.C. member and he only really came away in the winter for a holiday; all his mountaineering was left to the summer.
That evening we ate at the Station Buffet and were later joined by Mr. Fox. At about 9 o'clock he took us along to his hotel, the Tyroler Bar, where he had booked a table with a good view of the Tyrolese dancing, to which was added a zither and singing.
The white wine was served on ice, but I felt that the whole thing would have been better if it had been less obviously put on for the visitors – the photographer was there, and the girls were selling souvenirs.
I find 11 o'clock quite late on a skiing holiday and I was quite glad when it was over and could go home to bed, ungrateful as that may sound.
We had the perfect weather for our day in the ski school; we presented ourselves to "blue eyes" just before 10 a.m. and he soon found a class for Cecily. He asked me what class I wanted to go in, so I said that Hermann said I was to go in the snow plough class. He said surely I didn't want to go in the beginners class, I could do a snow plough, couldn't I? I said that I could do it, but with straight knees. He then put me with Albert, which turned out to be a stem-christy class. I was a little sorry about this for I have always been in a stem christy class and have never been taught to snow-plough. Apart from this I must say that it was the most enjoyable day I have every had with a ski school. For the first time I wasn't the worst pupil in the class.
Albert led us to a slope beyond the station, and started us doing a stem and then christy, without turning. I felt rather silly the first time I did this, in front of everyone else, but I didn't fall and began to enjoy it after that. When we turned it was to the right (i.e. my best side) and I enjoyed that also. Next we went half way back to the ski lift and practiced doing consecutive turns down that. The morning was unique in my skiing career, for I didn't fall once, but of course each time Albert would tell me to bend my knees further.
It is good to get with different instructors for they all seem to emphasise a different point, with Albert I shall always associate the straightening up, when the skis are brought together (he didn't tell me to straighten, I suppose he was emphasising that the knees are well bent before and after this moment).
The slope was very easy, but I felt that that was a good thing for I could concentrate on my technique instead of only trying to get round without falling. It was rather a mixed class, mostly of English and Americans, and half of them soon faded out.
Cecily and I had a hurried lunch together at the Buffet, and then Cecily hurried off to catch the 1.30 to Galzig, where her class were doing the Kandahar. I ran into the American man in my class and was able to point out to him on the plan in the Seilbahn my activities on my first two days. At 2 o'clock I was at the ski lift and, as always, I was the first of my class up. Albert took the run down very gently, the first turn was to the left and I forgot that this day I didn't fall, and down I went; however, I didn't do so badly after that.
After this first run, there were only about four of us left; I travelled up the second time with the American girl. We found that we were the same weight and balanced the anchor rather well. I don't think she'd done a great deal, but showed fair promise, but she obviously hadn't as much experience as I had with the lifts! She was a student from Paris and had just come from Garmische which she had left because it was so American and expensive. I think I fell a couple of times this time down and the third time hardly at all.
I met Cecily who had been up the ski lift after coming down the Kandahar. She wasn't very keen to meet "blue eyes" for, she said, he had watched her do a turn and had then informed her that it was a very bad turn. My class were going to St. Christoph the next day, and I didn't want to do that again, so I was eager to do something with Cecily. I found "blue eyes" apologising for putting me in too easy a class. As he said, after the first day he can ask the instructor, but it is difficult to judge for the first day. I assured him that he had chosen just the class for me. When we asked for a guide for a peak he said that there wasn't an instructor available. Next he asked Cecily whether she spoke German and when she said yes he said that he could find a sort of local boy to go with us – he then qualified this statement, by adding that he was a man of about 35. We were thrilled with the idea, both of us with the thought of only paying 60 Austrian shillings, and in addition Cecily thought what good practice it would be for her German, while my mind began to run on, planning to take him to the Silyretta.
That evening we ate at the Schwarzer Adler, where we were later joined by Mr. Fox. I drank cherry brandy at his expense and Cecily had schnapps. Later he showed us over the old part of the hotel (it is 15th century).
At 8.45 a.m. we found a brown faced man waiting outside the ski school office. Cecily spoke to him and found that he was our 'local lad' (Louis Fahner we eventually found was his name). At the Seilbahn station we spoke to "blue eyes" who gave the 'local lad' instructions for finding easy snow for us and then we got our tickets and were off without any queuing – we felt that we were with enthusiasts at that time of the morning. It was a glorious day, I took a photo of Schindler from Galzig, but the lighting was very flat. When I rejoined the others, the local boy absolutely insisted on putting my rucksack inside his (he already had Cecily's luncheon bag); I can't remember that ever happening to me before. We set off for St. Christoph. When I was second, I was rather disconcerted the way the 'local lad' tried to ski looking back at me; however, I soon got left behind. I didn't feel that I had warmed up by the time we reached the north-facing slope; in fact, I didn't do well at all! At St. Christoph, we stopped and put on skis and then set out for Wirc, a little hump 2337m.
We went very gently, at first I was behind, but presently Cecily had some trouble with a leg and I got ahead. I had none of my Schindler trouble of my skins not holding. At the col I asked the 'local lad' where we were going and he pointed towards the higher Peischelfkopf; however, when Cecily came up she translated that we weren't going to the summit, so she insisted on reaching the gipfel of Wirt. There were only a few hundred or so feet to walk up, but this was a major expedition, and he saw that we were suitably dressed for it. "Bringen Sie di Handschuhe" he said – I understood perfectly and burst out laughing – the others also laughed as I repeated "Handschuhe".
We admired the view all round. The 'local lad' seemed a real enthusiast, he even knew the heights of all the peaks. It was Patteriol which fascinated me. I can't remember how many photos I took of it.
We descended to the skis, and then the 'local lad' found a lovely sheltered piece of rock, where we had lunch, and eventually we started down. At first the snow was beautiful, but this didn't last for long. I knew that "blue eyes" had suggested that we could make a detour to keep on easier snow, but that didn't help when all the snow was about 2 ft deep. All we could do was traverse and kick turn, and it was only very rarely that I could do a traverse without falling. I had to keep in the tracks, for the snow was so heavy, and I found it so difficult to balance in the tracks. The hillside was very steep, and most picturesque when we got among trees, but I had thought for only one thing – to get down. Cecily was no better than me. I was sorry we made such a mess of it, for on the summit the 'local lad' had pointed out the Kalter Berg (2900m) and said that, depending on how we came down Wirt, he would know whether we could do that another day.
I thought that my bad skiing was the only trouble, I didn't realise at the time that conditions were very bad, for apparently we passed the test. We reached the road just before St. Christoph and skied some way down it – this wasn't too good as the snow was melting. We stopped at a hotel with a sun terrace full of women in suntops. Cecily and I drank tea here, while the 'local lad' had beer. We went back a few yards and then put on our skis for the run through the woods, and finally down the nursery slopes. Despite all my resolutions, I didn't even do the latter well; I seemed to trip up my skis in the softening snow (any excuse).
We made for the ski school; I was thoroughly ashamed of myself, but "blue eyes" was all sympathy – he said that the snow on Schindler had been nearly a metre deep that day. We discussed future plans, at first we suggested the Kalter Berg, but when we got it to sink in that we really wanted to go to the Silveretta he said that we had better go at once, for the weather would probably be bad there, and we should have to allow time to get back, if we were snowed up in a hut. I felt that Louis seemed a little left out of his change of plan, until Cecily told him that he was coming with us. "Blue eyes" told us that we must arrange things with Louis ourselves, and that we were to pay him 60 shillings a day and expenses, and that Louis knew the Silveretta.
Louis said that he didn't know what food we could buy in Galtür, so we had better take rations for our mid-day meals with us. When I said that I had a rope and a little stove he told me to bring them along, and that we could leave any unnecessary equipment at Galtür. Next we shopped, buying an enormous sausage (with no garlic flavouring) lashings of cheese, a dozen eggs, chocolate and dried fruit. We also got Maggi soups from Hermann Tchol, and a birthday card.
We had breakfast, finished our packing, took our rucksacks downstairs for storage, paid, and got to the station by about 9.15, where we met Louis. Cecily was wearing her old pants, and I noticed that she had worn through the seat. She had time to run back to the Jagerheim and change into new ones which had been made for her in a day in St. Anton. I got my ticket just behind Jimmy, a Scottish lad with an enormous rucksack and a short ice-axe. He was also bound for Glatür, and the Jarnstad Hütte, from where he wanted to traverse eventually to Klosters. When he informed us that he had been a prisoner of war for three years in Austria, I exclaimed "Oh how lovely, and were you able to do much skiing?". I was given to understand that I had said the wrong thing; he was kept working very hard, building the railway. It was Louis who had given me the wrong idea of a prisoner of war's life; he had spent five years in Norway, and eventually been taken prisoner of war by the British. Cecily asked him what he had thought of it and he said he had liked it very much(!); there had been plenty of good food.
Cecily then introduced Louis and Jimmy to each other, as prisoners of war on the two sides – it was most amusing to us, although they didn't speak the same languages, they made themselves understood very well.
The 9.36 stopped all the way to Landeck, where it arrived a little late. The bus was still waiting, and it stayed while Cecily brought our tickets from the station. Next, it drove to the town, and had another long wait in the market square. Landeck was below the snow level, but, once we started up the Paznaumtal, or the valley to Galtür, we soon got into it again. It was a dull day, and really that was a blessing, for there were a hundred and one things I should have been longing to photograph had the light been better. There were all the little bridges over the river, with their roofs and the thick snow on top of them. Then there was the river with snow on all the stones in it. A less picturesque, but more interesting sight was the avalanche debris; there was an occasional house scattered down the hillside, but the most striking views were when the avalanche had crossed the road, and they had cleared the latter. They could use no mechanical device; they had to shovel out the snow by hand, and saw through the great tree trunks which had been carried down.
The road itself was most exciting, at times only a narrow wall of snow would separate us from a drop of several hundred feet sheer, into the river.
I was sitting near the front and could watch the driver; on the whole he was most considerate to others on the road, starting to back immediately if he felt that it was his place to do so, but if he ever thought that the other person ought to be doing something he didn't hesitate to tell them so.
For instance, the boy said quite rightly that the space wasn't long enough to take both the horse and the log which the horse was pulling, but our driver soon had him pulling the log over into the snow. Even I could tell that the dialect which the driver spoke had little resemblance to German. Louis seemed to recognise some of the men working on the road, and it made me wonder whether he was one of them, when he wasn't skiing.
We stopped long enough to stretch our legs at Kappl, and then went on through Ischgl, and Mathon to Galtür. Cecily suggested to someone that Galtür must be rather picturesque in the summer, but they replied no, it was better in the winter, for there was always a cold wind blowing in the summer. We were to form the conclusion that it wasn't noted for its good weather in the winter. We went first to the Hotel Rössle, but they seemed to have no room, for we trailed further west, towards Winkel and finally stopped at the Ballenspitz, where we learned there was a room for Cecily and me, and an attic for Louis. At about 3 o'clock in the afternoon we ordered a cooked meal. It was a long time coming, but, when it arrived, we found it well worth waiting for. Louis had three fried eggs (we told him that that was 3 week's ration in England), but we had a wiener schnitzel which positively melted in the mouth.
Next we had a short shopping expedition into the village, to buy a few more stores. In one nick-nack shop, I excelled myself by going in the wrong door. I didn't realise that I was the wrong side of the counter, and that the people dressed in skiing clothes on the other side didn't work in the shop! I tried a photo of the village, when the brightness in the sky, which represented the position of the sun was just behind the Bullenspitze (peak).
We went back to our Pension with the impression that a cold wind could blow in Galtür in the winter.
Cecily lent me some knitting for the evening; I was very grateful for this as there was nothing else to do; we didn't seem to get on with our fellow guests at all well. We were glad to think that we had left the English and Americans behind at St. Anton, but we didn't think that the Germans at the Ballenspitz were an improvement. Dinner was late that night and everyone was getting most impatient, and I didn't feel that our popularity increased when we were served first (the proprietor and his family were extremely nice).
The wind had dropped in the night, but the snow was steadily falling in the morning and Louis announced that we weren't going to the hut that day. I said the obvious thing, that we had better get to the hut as soon as possible, to be well placed for when the better weather came. Louis (through Cecily) replied that if I thought the weather would be find the next day, he would be quite willing to go, but he didn't think so. We'd do far better to stay at Galtür, from where we could do little trips.
I was unconvinced, in any case I wanted to get to a hut, whatever the weather, but Cecily was on his side, so it was two to one, and I was over-ruled. Louis suggested that we could set out at 10.30 for a little trip. I was ready on the dot, but Cecily began to get ready at that time, so it was about 11 o'clock before we set off. Louis had put uphill wax on our skis, and it really was most efficient, and took us up to the Zeinisjoch without any trouble; my difficulty was to get it off, for the slight downhill gradient to the hut. I felt that it would have been easier to have taken off the skins.
The hut was a complete surprise, it was a palatial hotel – we went in the dining room and ordered soup, and then ate our sandwiches, which seemed to me quite the wrong thing to do. I had expected some sort of shelter for lunch, but apparently Cecily had expected nothing, so she was even more surprised (the whole expedition had seemed quite pointless to her, while I was so pleased to be doing something). It was still snowing when we left – we soon left the main track, and followed some recent ones uphill, putting on skins as the snow steepened. We reached the top of Alpkogel just as the view cleared, for it seemed to clear in an instant.
It must have been a wonderful moment, but I couldn't enjoy it; I had left my camera behind in Galtür. The others had so depressed me with their prophecies that the hard weather had come to say. I felt that Louis also felt that he had made the wrong decision, and the pair of us took off our skins, put on our skis and thought that we'd make up for it by a little energetic skiing. Not so Cecily, the warm sun was all that she could desire. She took off her skis, sat on a rock, combed her hair and was prepared to stay there some time. I felt a brute not joining her, but I had been far happier plodding up in the snow that morning, than I was at that moment. Soon Cecily put her skis on and joined us for the run down. It was perfect powder snow, but I had the idea that I couldn't turn on any but packed snow. (I expected it to be heavy, as on Wirt, just because it was deep) and so I did a few kick turns. Lower down there were some exhilarating schusses and when we got down the 1000 or so feet, how sorry I was that it was all over. I should have liked to have climbed up again, but my first thought was for my camera. Back at the Ballenspitz, Cecily sank into a deckchair, while I went towards the village with my camera. I took another one or so of the church and the Bullenspitze peak, and then went on down the road, hoping to reach a stretch of interesting river with trees, stones with their hats on (as Cecily called them when they had snow on) and roofed bridges.
I took one or two against the light, with the river (not hated stones) in the foreground and the village in the background and then went on to the trees. I reached the upper end of the tree belt, but unfortunately, to have photographed that would have meant flat, back to the sun, lighting, and the sun was too deep for me to penetrate in and get much into the sun and I really felt that I should have used the afternoon better, had I devoted it to skiing.
Back at the Ballenspitz I found that Cecily had done a little more shopping, had bought some eggs which we got the house to hard boil (the others we had done ourselves) – we learned that Louis normally ate about four a day!
Dinner was punctual that night – too punctual for Cecily. I had nearly finished mine before she appeared, and so to bed, for they let us keep our room, making the people who had booked it sleep out that night. Louis promised us that we should start for the hut at 9 o'clock the next morning, whatever the weather.
The house was up early the next morning to go to church, and we had breakfast soon after 8 o'clock and were ready to start at about 9. Louis took my rope, and told me to leave my stove behind. He offered to carry no food, much to Cecily's disgust; I thought how different from on the Wirt.
Louis had put our skins on Cecily's and my skis, but he had used wax on his own. It was still quite nice when we set out, but I had no hopes that it would last, for I had watched a most beautiful, but ominous, sunrise from the bedroom window. The wind got stronger the higher we reached up the valley.
I was very pleased that we passed one or two parties as soon as we left Galtür, and I felt that the wind quite exhilarated Cecily. We had a short halt for chocolate about half way up, and then went on to below the last steeper rise. We passed a sledge of luggage, pulled by three boys without skis, and that gave Louis the idea that he'd do better to carry his skis (his wax wasn't nearly so good as our skins). He took them off, but they weren't so easy to carry in the wind and, before the steeper part, he put them on again. It was cold waiting, so he said that we could go on. Visibility was bad as I started up, and I seemed to miss the beginning of the shelf, I kept a little too low, and was always traversing parallel to it, too lazy to do a kick-turn and get onto it. The snow was of hard wind crust, and I hate edging my skis when I have skins on; however, Louis soon overtook me and, following his example, I made the kick-turn which got me onto the easier gradient and, in 3½ hours (the usual time) we reached the hut – yes, in my third skiing season I actually reached a hut.
There was a glass verandah all along the east side of the hut, and this made a fine ski-store, besides having work benches for their repair. (This hut was only a few stages less luxurious than the so-called hut on the Zeinisjoch.) Inside Louis told us that our A.A.C. cards would be very useful. I wasn't so sure when I learned that they would enable us to secure a private bedroom. I disapproved on principle, and even more so when I felt how cold our little room was.
We ordered soup, ate our lunch, drank tea, put our things in our bedroom, and then I was ready for some skiing. Louis took me to the top of the little knoll near the hut – we put on skins for the trip. At the top, Louis pointed to the east and said that we'd be climbing a peak in that direction, the next day, and the day after we'd be going southwest over the Ochsenjoch to the next hut. We watched a solitary bird poking at some frozen grass, for right at the top, the snow seemed to have been blown away. Once outside I found that the wind wasn't nearly as strong as it had sounded in the hut, in fact it was far better than it had been on the way up. I can't say that my run down was a success. I felt it gave me a little experience in running in slightly difficult conditions. The top, I think, was too steep for me to turn in any case, and certainly it was on that snow, so, seeing that I was kick-turning, Louis started to do the same, which gave him no run at all. I excelled myself at one point by turning a complete somersault. I got up with no idea of which direction I was facing.
Back out at the hut we found Jimmy, who had arrived the day before, and had a day out. There was also a party of four English people with a guide. Cecily had met one of them, Francis McRobert, in London. They had come over from the Heidelberger Hütte, and they said that the wind higher up had been appalling, at times they could hardly breath. They passed the time in the huts playing Canasta, but I didn't learn to do the same.
The next day it was snowing, but this obviously wasn't going to keep people in. Louis said that we'd go to the Jamjoch instead of to the peak to the east, for the snow would be better there. We put on our skins and then started a downward traverse from the hut, which I found particularly difficult, and I was slow on it. I made up for it when it came to going up; it was Cecily who got left behind. I'd get cold waiting for her and she'd complain that she had no rest when she caught us up. The snow was falling steadily all the time, but it was a muggy sort of a day and I got very hot and my glasses steamed up. We went to and fro round the steeper parts and then met the Swiss and his Ischgl guide who were coming down from the Joch. Poor Cecily thought that we had gone quite far enough, for the whole expedition seemed quite pointless to her. However, Louis and I didn't listen to her and we all went on to the joch, where Louis said there'd be no point in going up a peak, although he said we could go up the Kleine Jamspitz if we liked. Naturally, I liked, and it wasn't the little peak I was after either, but that was as far as Louis went. I didn't argue for we had left Cecily on the joch and I knew how cold one got waiting, that day. I was glad I had gone to the little bit of rock, for I could see, through the snow, to the south – it was quite steep down that way – also there was an interesting little bit of cornice, almost under my feet!
We had a little to eat, and then started down, just as other people arrived at the joch and started up a little peak to the east. I was sorry to be going down so soon, for I was hoping all the time that this might prove to be another Saturday and the sun might come out if we waited for it. Needless to say I was dreading the thought of the descent with all the soft snow, and visibility nil.
How wrong I was about that snow, it was perfect powder, as light as could be, and it gave me the most wonderful run I have ever had. Occasionally it would seem that, in spite of myself, I could turn; the turn would seem to happen of its own accord. I thought of Simon Robinson; if only he could see me now, for he had spent all my holiday last year, trying to teach me to turn in soft snow. Of course, I fell innumerable times, sometimes when I tried to turn, and at other times, when the angle of the slope steepened. About half way down, we met the English party, but they were better skiers, and got ahead. When we reached the more gradual part, Louis told us to schuss, and, if we couldn't see where we were going, we were to stem – the trouble was that if I picked a line of my own, and stemmed as hard as I could, I'd still catch up Louis. I found side-slipping a much better bet.
When I got to bed that night, before I was properly asleep, I could still feel myself being tossed about by the snow, feeling rather like a cork, tossed by the waves of a sea, for the snow had seemed to offer no resistance to the skis at all.
Back at the hut that afternoon, we ate the rest of our sandwiches, and then I began to get restless, I told Cecily that I was going out to practice turning. I soon came back for my camera, for it was beginning to get lighter. Cecily told me that Louis was disappointed that I hadn't taken him out, so I found him, and he accompanied me. He told me not to bother with skins, and we started walking up the same slope as we had done the day before; I couldn't keep up and I found that I didn't gain nearly as much height with a kick turn, as he did, so he showed me how he made them, putting the lower ski uppermost. That day I couldn't do this, but I didn't find it so difficult the next day. Then we began to come down. I couldn't do a thing! From the Jamjoch I had felt that, if only I could have seen I couldn't have gone wrong. Here I could see, but I couldn't turn, and the snow was only a little more compacted and steeper than that in the morning. Half way down, where it was a little flatter, we stopped and I had my lesson. Poor Louis; I heard from Cecily afterwards that he thought it was his fault, because he couldn't speak to me, that I didn't understand him, and do as he did. I understood perfectly what he meant; he gave such wonderful demonstrations. The chief point in technique which he emphasised was the change of weight from one ski to the other. He demonstrated this by lifting first one and then the other ski off the ground.
Another thing which I was most grateful to him for drawing attention to, was the position of my hands, and afterwards he would sometimes show me if Cecily was doing the same. The trouble was that at times, in an emergency, even when I remembered that they were up, I couldn't seem to force them down.
During the lesson the moment for which I had been waiting, arrived. The sun came out, and the mist cleared, but I was much too busy practicing, I hardly noticed it, let alone took any photos. Eventually Louis said we were going back to the hut; he told me to do two turns and then schuss until I reached the track. Although I had been doing turns on that same ground, I fell on both these last two, and then once more on my way back – and I should have loved to have been a credit to Louis' teaching. At the hut we found that the sun had brought Cecily out, so Louis took her up to the top of the little lump. I pottered around, first with photographs, and then practicing on my own. Back at the hut I saw someone hurtling down at an incredible speed. He was crouched on his heels and I thought what a fool, he'd never stop by the time he got to the hut. As he came nearer I saw that it was Louis, and, with two christies, he had stopped, but he was breathing rather hard.
As soon as the sun had gone, everyone came back to the hut, for a cold wind was developing – I had Louis out once more to demonstrate his peculiar kick-turn, for I found that none of the other English had heard of it.
The wind had been blowing all night and there was no sign of it abating in the morning. It looked very cold outside, but once we were in it, it wasn't too bad, for the wind always whistles round a building, sounding nearly as bad as it does from a tent. We left about the same time as the English party, and started following them up the Jamtal. We took a slightly different line of the valley, to the east of the one we had taken the day before. The other party went at a very steady pace (a little too steady I found it), but they continued up without halting, and reached the joch at the same time as us. About half way up we overtook them, but then we stopped twice, once because Cecily's skin came off (Louis had put it on) and once for chocolate.
At the Ochsenjoch, we stopped and took off skins and, while I was waiting, I practiced the new kick turns until I could do them. I wanted to get up a peak, but no-one was interested, and eventually we set off down to the Wiesbadener Hütte. The other party soon got miles ahead. I found I had learned nothing from my lesson the day before (I hadn't done very well during the lesson, so I hoped that it was one of those lessons, of which I felt the benefit later), but this time the snow wasn't ideal. Near the hut the snow reminded me of conditions in the Cairngorms, it was perfectly hard and wind-crusted and, to make things quite impossible, there were mushroom growths out of the snow. Perhaps if these had been taken at speed the skis would have gone through them, but I wasn't travelling at speed, so very shallow traverses and kick turns were my lot. I remember one little patch of powder on which I turned and that was the only bright spot on the whole of that slope. I consoled myself by thinking how wonderfully it would all photograph when the sun came out!
We found that the Wiesbadener wasn't quite such a luxurious hut at the Jamtal. The electric light wasn't working and there was an underground (or under snow!) storage room for skis. When we first arrived there were very few people present, but later, large parties from the ski school from Galtür arrived, and the place became very crowded.
Louis tried to procure a bedroom for Cecily and me, but we were told it was very cold, and, when we saw it, with the beds covered with wet sheets, we turned it down and said we'd prefer a dormitory.
That afternoon when the wind dropped, it started to snow (I should have known that the sun never came out on the windy days) and the people from Galtür kept piling in, crowding the table where Cecily and I were sitting. We recognised Hilda from the Ballenspitz, and eventually the proprietor of that pension arrived, and greeted us like old friends (we then remembered that he was a bergfuhrer). Soon some of the people at our table began to put two and two together and realised that it was for us they had had to give up their beds at Galtür (we hadn't expected the Ballenspitz to catch up with us like that). They were a very jolly party – how completely different the atmosphere was in the hut, compared to Galtür, where we had spent our time glaring at each other.
The others were Germans from places such as Hamburg and Stuttgart. Quite a number of them knew a little English, which they spoke, and for the rest, I was sitting next to our Swiss friend from the Jamtal Hütte and he translated. We spent part of the evening setting each other little puzzles.
Cecily and I went to bed in good time, but I found there was no light in the dormitory and my things were scattered all over my bed. I went down to the little girl and asked her for a light; she was going to bring up her oil lamp, so I said, hadn't she a candle which I could take. She looked, but couldn't find one, so brought up the lamp which she held until I was sorted out. The remarkable thing about all this was the fact that I talked to the girl in English and she knew just what I wanted, although she didn't understand English! She was about 15, and had only been in the hut a week. She was a great success - everyone was wanting some sun so that they could take her outside and photograph her.
We found that our companions in the dormitory were to be Louis, also the guides of the English party and the Swiss. It was the latter (quite a character, we were told, from Ischgl) who spent all the first part of the night coughing, and I was woken up by Cecily telling him to shut up.
I had slept through the coughing, but what annoyed me was when they started talking, later in the night.
It was still snowing, and the snow outside was pretty deep, but the best thing I wanted to do was go down. According to the weather formula that week, we were due for a sunny afternoon, besides, this last fall had been so much heavier than the others that I hoped it would prove to be a final storm. I felt that we might be rewarded by a perfect day, if we had the patience to wait for it.
Louis announced that morning that it was quite impossible to go up, and that the whole hut was going down. Cecily was glad to hear this, so I didn't argue again and, about 10 o'clock, we set off down. We had waited about for some time, obviously waiting to see if anyone else was going our way, but eventually we had to set out, the first down. We wanted to catch the 2.30 bus at Galtür and get back to St. Anton that day and pay Louis (he didn't realise this latter fact).
We went up a few yards from the hut and then down, following the telegraph (or power) poles. The latter were invaluable to give us the general direction, but of course they did nothing more, and any track there might normally be was covered by about a metre of very light snow. In the early stage, I felt my skis grate over rocks, which at times rather upset my balance. After the first steep part it flattened a little, and I got a run. I know I was making a new track and stemming as hard as I could, but I soon got in front of Louis and then, not knowing the lie of the land, I stopped in my usual manner.
Sometimes I found it quite difficult to get up, with the combination of soft snow, and a pack – this was the only disadvantage I found to skiing with a pack.
It was soon after this run that I was most thankful that Louis was in front. I was peering through the falling snow, watching him, for this gave me some idea of the gradient, making it easier for me. Suddenly he seemed to go down and I thought for a moment that he had fallen, until I saw that he had gone over the edge of what, in the clearer moments, looked to me like a cliff of several hundred feet. He started to shout to me in German; I suppose he was telling me not to follow him (as though I had any intention!), so I shouted up to Cecily on no account to come past me (this also was unnecessary for she liked to stay back until she could see a clear run ahead). Louis got up and traversed to the right. Soon after this the Swiss and his guide appeared (as Louis said, no-one else would leave the hut, until we had made the tracks) and the two parties continued down together, the guides taking it in turns to make the track.
What wouldn't I have given to have come that way an hour or so later, when the sun was shining, or perhaps it was because I could see so little, that the snow formations looked so extraordinary. Eventually we came to what looked like seracs, and the Swiss told us that it was the end of the glacier. We were therefore astonished to come to more serac-like ice considerably lower down, and the Swiss eventually told us that we were on the lake, the Stansee.
All this time the weather was clearing up, until by the time we were on the dam of the lake at about 12 o'clock, the last of the clouds began to go. We had quite a long halt there, while the others waxed their skis – Cecily and I considered that ours were fast enough without, for the way down the other side of the dam looked steep. When at last we set off we found the snow appallingly slow, except for the dam we hardly got a run – this first part was great fun, we started cautiously, traversing, but then turned it into an exhilarating schluss.
As we started down the Kleinfermunt we were told not to follow each other too closely, in case there was an avalanche, we could see old avalanche scars, but they didn't reach the bottom of the valley. The Swiss and I had a wonderful time with our cameras, as the tops came into view, but the Swiss, with his colour film was a little more economical than I was. It never mattered if one of us got left behind, for it was always so much faster for those behind that they soon caught up.
What a crime it was, to be going away from the mountains on such an afternoon and not even to be getting a run, but having to walk instead.
Towards Galtür the guides drew ahead (we reached a path). Then I had the inspiration to put my bindings in the uphill position, which made walking so much easier. We hurried the last two miles to the Rössle at Galtür, and when I arrived the others were all smiles, saying that the bus hadn't even arrived (it was 2.45 – I was ¼ hour late) and Louis explained that he had picked up the things which we had left at the Ballenspitz, and all was well until one of the guides phoned up Ischgl to find whether or not the bus was coming. The Swiss brought various messages to Cecily and me. First he said that the bus was at Ischgl and was coming no further, if we wanted to catch it we should have to have a taxi down. We agreed to do this, but then the next message was that the bus would come to Galtür after all, but then would get no further than Ischgl that night. We agree to spend the night in Ischgl for, as we all in turn remarked, the bus mightn't get to Galtür the next morning.
While waiting for the bus, We had soup and a sweet omelette. I didn't consider the latter a success - it was a pancake, and there was no lemon with it.
We drank Schiwasser to pass the time and, about 4.30, they tried to ring up Ischgl. At about 5.30 they got through and were told that the bus had left for Galtür hours ago and would be there any moment now. We were all so tired of waiting for it, that we decided to set off on skis to meet it.
At about 6 o'clock on the outskirts of Galtür we found it, outside the Hotel Eidelweiss, and learned that the driver was inside and in no condition to drive it, so we continued along the road. I followed Cecily's example and carried my skis on the first uphill part. I had been quite eager to ski down the road, I thought it would make up for not having had a run down the Kleinfermunt.
I soon changed my mind, the road consisted of frozen ruts Most of the way it was a case of walking or punting along, but just occasionally there'd be a run, but it would be far too fast for me, for the surface was far too uneven for stemming.
I remember I fell one or twice and the greatest difficulty in getting to my feet; I had to crawl to the bank, and use that to help me up. Louis was quite considerate, he would catch me up and then wait for Cecily. Eventually he was able to tell me that it was only a quarter of an hour to Ischgl, which we reached at about dusk.
Although I hadn't enjoyed the method of locomotion, I was very thrilled with the evening, and the country we were passing through, repeatedly looking back to the peaks of the Silveretta.
We passed the church, where there was a service in progress, and went in the first hotel, the Tyroler, where apparently the Swiss had gone. When the lady appeared she said that we could there, and she could get us a bed at her sister-in-laws up the road. I said that would be alright, but when Louis heard it, he said we'd go on.
I think it was some sort of an Adler we went in, it was a beautiful place, but empty, and not heated. However, there was room for us, and Cecily and I were shown up to our room, where Cecily decided that this was the emergency for which she had been carrying a bottle of Schnapps and she divided it out. At about 8 o'clock we were called for dinner. Remembering the Ballenspitz, we had ordered Wiener Schnitzel, but these weren't in the same class. However we ended with fruit and cream (I had been longing for cream ever since we had started in the huts), but the fruit was bottled plums, which weren't really what I should have chosen.
After dinner, the Swiss guide appeared and ordered wine and Cecily and I went to bed leaving him to have a long session with Louis (we should have been happier had we realised at the time that the wine wasn't going to appear on our bill).
We had the usual breakfast; Cecily rather surprising the woman by asking for more coffee. Next we paid and were delighted to find that dinner, bed, breakfast and extra coffee came to about 10 English shillings per head.
Next we boarded the 7.30 bus, but found it full of French and had to stand all the way. I was sorry to be leaving Ischgl so soon for I had quite taken a fancy to it, and thought that perhaps the Englishman had something when he had said that another time he wouldn't mind starting his holiday from there, and then going straight up to the Heidelberger Hütte.
There was no time to look round Landek, for the train was about 10 o'clock – a train going in the right direction drew into the platform just before 10 and we got into it, and it waited about ½ an hour. We hadn't the sense to get out and into the first when that arrived.
We reached St. Anton about 11.30 and agreed to meet Louis at 2 at Galzig from where he was going to take us down the Kandahar.
We were a little reconciled to our Silveretta weather, when we learned that this was the first sunny day St. Anton had had since we had left. We made our way to the Jägerheim, where we were greeted as old friends, and shown to a room. We got our luggage a little organised, and then did some shopping and made our way to the Seilbahn station and so to Galzig. There was a cold wind blowing, but we found the most sheltered side for lunch, and then went in the restaurant for coffee, before going out to practice. I took a photo of Cecily, just in case this should be our last sunny day, and then we found some powder on which we did some turns, when, before we expected him, Louis appeared, in a new outfit, and we started down the Kandahar. The first part consisted of some exhilaratingly fast schusses, on the first one I found myself sitting on my heels and, to my amazement, I made it. After that occasionally I took to the rough to find a slower line.
Next we came to the steep part, stem christies all the way down on, for me, an impossibly steep slope. I couldn't do a thing, fortunately I could still side-slip. The trouble was that I knew that conditions were good, with a little powder on top of the packed snow.
When Cecily had first suggested the Kandahar I had said that I wasn't up to the standard, but Louis had said that I had done far harder things. His idea of hard and mine didn't coincide.
In the mountains I had felt that my natural place was in front of Cecily, but here everything was reversed, for Cecily did the run very well.
I found the tracks through the woods horribly fast; I remember one place where I was following Louis (I follow an expert rather close for you can usually rely on them keeping out of the way). I was stemming as hard as I could, while he was punting along and yet I was catching him up. I think I did the worst I ever did on the lower slopes. Next we took Louis to the station buffet; he drank beer, Cecily had ½ litre of cold milk, and I had hot wine with sugar and lemon – I had seen so many other people drinking this that I was curious to try it. Finally we paid up and said goodbye, and left Louis to some friends while Cecily and I went up on the ski lift. I was just getting worse by this time; I couldn't do a turn on either foot, so I left Cecily to go up on her own another time, while I found the slope to which Albert had first taken us. This was ridiculously easy and, after one or two tries, I taught myself to turn to the right, and then tried to find a slope on which I could turn the other way. The first one I tried was crusted, and eventually I found one on the very packed snow, but the angle was ridiculously shallow.
We went to the Schwarzer Adler for dinner that night – had a lovely dish of hors d'oeuvres, but, although pêche melba was on the menu, they couldn't provide it.
I presented myself at the ski office and asked the girl whether I might use someone else's ticket (Mrs. Fox had left us a couple). She replied that only the head of the ski school could give me permission. Cecily and I found "blue eyes" sorting out the classes, and Cecily put it very well, making a joke of our inherited tickets and was given permission to use them.
Cecily insisted that we should be put in the same class, and I insisted that the class I had been in last time had been of the right standard for me, and so we were introduced to another Louis – Big Louis I immediately thought of him, to distinguish him from Louis Fahner. He was a real find; he was such a good teacher – he spoke very slowly in a deep voice. "I see everything", he told me when I had said that he hadn't seen how badly I had come down from the ski lift if he thought that I could do the Kandahar in the afternoon.
There was only one other pupil, American, Mrs. Brindley, who put Cecily and me to shame, although her previous skiing experience consisted of a fortnight 4 years ago. We traversed some way up, and to the right, and then stopped on far too steep a slope, down which Louis and the other two stem-christied. After my appalling exhibition, the others didn't do so well, so Louis started us from first principles, stemming, and then christying in the same direction. I learned to turn to the right on that slope, but not to the left.
Big Louis' emphasis was on the shoulder swing; I had never before been told to do a counter swing before starting the turn. Thus my three chief guides this holiday emphasised, one at a time, the three chief points in the turn. Another thing which "Big Louis" told me was not to stem too much before I started (I had always suspected that this was one of my faults, but had never been told so before).
Cecily and I hadn't really got the same ideas about classes All the time she was complaining that we were working too hard, and was asking to go up on the ski lift so that we could practice our turns on the way down. I find that if I am on a run, I merely try to get down, and never think about my technique; also I find hard work very satisfying.
It was a muggy sort of a day, with very heavy snow, but it was slow and easy. I suggested that I would do more good to practice on my own in the afternoon, but Louis said that I'd find the Kandahar easy, so I didn't need much persuasion to go on it, and we agreed to meet at Galzig at 2 o'clock.
After lunch at the station, Cecily and I went up the Teleferique and practiced a little, until the others arrived. Besides the American, there were two English girls, for whom this run seemed a novel experience. Their technique was very good, but they didn't seem very sure of themselves.
Big Louis completely nursed us down it; he knew all the easy ways, whereas the day before little Louis only knew the fastest ways.
The first turn was to the left, and was in front of "blue eyes", so naturally I didn't make it. Next Louis took the schusses slower than I have should have liked. We were very sorry for Mrs. Brindley, she broke a ski on one of the first turn, and had to go down by Teleferique.
Next we came to the steep part, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, and did no more side-slipping than Louis. What a thrill it was to be able to turn in both directions, although I knew it was only the easy snow which allowed me to do so.
Being an English party we were very polite, giving each one a turn next to Louis.
When I mentioned that the next morning was my last, Louis said that we must go up to Galzig and have our lesson up there.
That evening Cecily and I thought we'd do something different and had dinner in the Alpine Rose. We found that this was a predominantly French hotel, but like the rest of St. Anton this week, it was very empty.
I woke up early and heard a familiar sound, just like English rain on the window, I didn't believe it, and went to sleep again. When I got up I found that it was true, and that it was still raining. It was no weather for the beautiful new yellow ski jacket I had bought the night before, so I put on my old one, which proved to be waterproof (I doubt if my new one is).
Cecily wasn't interested in the ski school, but I was eager to learn a little more, hoping it would prove a good investment for my next holiday.
I asked "blue eyes" whether there'd be any classes and he said, "Yes, of course". I asked him if it were still raining at Galzig and he said yes, it was raining up to about 3,500 metres, so I bought a ticket for the day, and found Louis and Mrs. Brindley.
It was a slightly larger class; there was an older woman, an English boy and another man who spoke equally good English and German.
This morning we made straight for the ski lift for "blue eyes" had said that only the Ostung, among the Galzig runs, was still open. There was danger of avalanches on all the others.
We found that considerably more of ski lift runs had been roped off. For the first time I fell on the run from the top of the lift to the assembly point. The older man then starting talking, saying that ski lefts were all very well, but that one needed to walk uphill if one were to ski in the mountains – and so, for the first time in St. Anton, I found a sympathetic audience for my tale of our Silveretta trip – I told him is in instalments when we stopped on the way down.
The snow was ridiculously slow, and yet I was skiing far worse than before my mountain trip.
We went up a second time, and, on the last slope, we practiced a little. The trouble was that the snow was so easy that any old technique would get me round and so I learned less than I should have liked. I tried to show Mrs. Brindley my new kick turn, but she wasn't interested.
Cecily and I had our last meal together in the Schwarzer Adler, and then tied up our skis, finished our packing, paid, said goodbye, and had a porter take our stuff to the station.
Cecily registered through both pairs of skis, and her rucksack, on my ticket, paying for it in Swiss francs. Next she caught the 2.40 or so to Innsbruck, and I waited for the 3.20 to Basle. None of my companions of the outward journey was leaning out of the window, so I got in the nearest third class carriage, and walked along until I found a seat. I was soon talking to the other three English girls in the carriage, who turned out to be very good company, they were neither the "tiger", nor the fashionable types. They had been skiing for pleasure away from English people, and at places devoid of lifts. Most important they shared my views on restaurant cars. Pamela was a Birmingham physiotherapist, and Judy Rooke had Nottingham connections.
We went along for the first sitting for dinner; I found that when Pamela asked for water, she meant water and wasn't going to be palmed off with any fizzy stuff in a bottle. Back in our own carriage we had a most thrilling sunset, deep red sky with interesting clouds and mountains, and the whole thing reflected in the Zurichsee.
We alighted at Basle, and, having some hours to wait, we were in no hurry to go through to the French side. We put our luggage in the cloakroom and made our way to the buffet, where I was determined to get an ice, with cream, as I hadn't been able to procure one in St. Anton. I had the first I found on the menu and then, seeing Pamela's cream meringue, I thought I would like one of those. The trouble was that I had just drunk my hot chocolate, and couldn't tackle it.
Next we went through the customs and, while waiting to be let through to the train, the Scottish lad started to speak to me. I was so glad to see that he had got through safely. Except for the peaks, he had carried through his plan; he had got down to Klosters and, after a day or so there, he had crossed another pass back into Austria.
In the train we saved him a seat; he didn't turn up, but we found the seat very useful.
Pamela and I agreed that cocoa is a splendid nightcap, for we both slept rather well. The bell for breakfast was a welcome sound nevertheless, and we made our way along to the restaurant. The man asked us if we wanted "bikininig" – the others translated for me "bacon and egg".
I think all four of us thought what a funny thing that would be to eat at 7 a.m. – we contented ourselves with a continental breakfast with a banana as the only luxury.
I was rather sorry that the customs etc. didn't come through the train, but we were soon through at Calais, and boarding the "Maid of Orleans" again.
Pamela and I both made for the restaurant for an English lunch – that was rather a waste of money as far as Pamela was concerned. It was rather strange to watch sun-tanned faces turn pale.
At Folkestone I was soon through the customs, and saving places in the third class carriage. When the others didn't come, I looked for them and then joined them in the second class carriage, which had been made over to the surplus third-class people. We dozed a little and were woken by the man bringing round tea, so we let him bring it to us as well.
At Victoria I left my rucksack and then, when they had the luggage out of the train, I collected the skis and rucksack and, leaving my skis with my rucksack, took Cecily's skis and rucksack to the cloakroom, later sending the tickets to Lilywhites and Cecily, respectively.
I made my way across to St. Pancras, and caught the 6.16 to Nottingham, being a little disappointed that I could get nothing cooked to eat at St. Pancras station at that time in the evening.
I caught the 8 o'clock from Victoria. We waited about half an hour just outside Grantham station, and then drew into the platform opposite the one from which the Scottish train would leave. Very soon the Aberdonian drew in, but there were no Fort William coaches and, hearing that our train was the third one, we adjourned to the refreshment room. At about 10 o'clock they announced a train as the Fort William one. The front carriages were empty, and Nell, Ernest and I got one to ourselves.
We looked out at York and Newcastle, but could see nothing of Don and John Martin, so we spent the rest of the time asleep. Eventually we drew into a station where someone was shouting something which sounded like "All change". I was far too comfortable to believe it and we stayed where we were until an official pulled up our blinds and told us the grim news that by now the Fort William part of the train was shunted onto another platform. We got ourselves and our luggage out, and walked in a rather dazed manner over the bridge, even managing to find tickets at a barrier, and onto the new platform. They wouldn't let us near the proper carriages, but told us to change at Glasgow. We sat up for about an hour, and then, just before Glasgow we were told to get out. I was the first out, not wanting to go over a barrier again. I hurried down to the proper part of the train. The others waited, and then got in the emptier carriages, onto which we were shunted.
I was so surprised when I opened the door, there were two familiar bodies on the floor – Don and John.
There were no third class seats, so I soon tried to walk towards the diner, only to be foiled by a locked door. Next, the sleeping car attendant came along and, not liking us and our rucksacks in the way on the floor, he told us to sit in a first class carriage. I soon made my way along to the breakfast car, only to be told that I should have to wait until the first sitting was over (I don't usually miss that!). I was soon allowed in and was shown to a small table; however, before it filled up, Don and John arrived and I moved over to their table.
The attendant didn't seem to mind that I wanted sugar on my porridge, even in Scotland! I thought the haddock sounded slightly more interesting than kipper or sausage (how much better do they do an English breakfast on the continent!) and it was served up with beans and tomatoes. We finished with toast and marmalade.
The weather was quite good, but I found I had forgotten that route. I must take a small scale map next time.
After Tyndrum, the scenery was a little more familiar, and we tried to pick out the peaks and, at Roy Bridge, we were on the 1" map. The others finding us in a 1st class carriage, joined us (they didn't realise that one doesn't sit four-aside in such carriages!) and then, at Fort William they had to go back for their luggage.
We started sauntering up the main street, and went in the café on the right hand side. We were told that they served nothing cooked until 12.30 (it was then about 11.45) so we then found a place on the left hand side, where we could get a meal at once. When we were about half way through, Ernest arrived, in such a state. He is much too conscientious a meet leader, and had been searching Fort William for us. He said that there was a bus to the distillery at 12.30 and they would have been able to catch it if they hadn't spent so much time looking for us. We left the others still eating and went out and just caught the bus, alighting at the distillery. We walked through the place, followed a path up by the river, until we came to the little railway, which we started to follow along. We looked back and found that we were being followed, the other three, having missed the bus, had taken a taxi and dropped Nell at Nevis Bank, and Ernest and Ed at the distillery. Next we met Arthur, who had arrived the day before and found the weather appalling, and the only sheltered place he could find for his tent was in the sheep-pen and we crossed the river on the railway line and descended to it. I pitched my tent there, much to Don's disgust; he was very disappointed that I hadn't brought a mountain tent, for he wanted to camp high. When he saw that John had the berg, he immediately started to think that the three of us could camp high in that for one night. I said that if we were going to do that, we had better do it that night, for the rest of that day would be wasted, so we might as well spend it making our high level camp.
We soon had food sorted out; I offered to take my primus and spare paraffin, John the tent and his short rope, and Don his rope. We shared the food between us.
In the morning we had seen Clive, who was going up to see his friend, who was camping just below the snow-line, and we could see his tent from afar. Don led the way and kept well over to his right – I was too far behind to tell him about the path on the true right of the glen; we collected together below the shoulder near Lochen Meall an t'Suidhe, and then Don could see the path and made for it. At about 4.30, we reached the hut and I knocked on the door, hoping to get some information about the routes. No-one was home. Don I knew had had ambitions to camp on the summit, and I knew that that was the ideal thing to do, but I wasn't sure about the ascent, in the dark, with a pack, so I suggested that it was too late to camp higher, and I knew a lovely camp-site nearby. To my surprise my suggestion was acted upon and, leaving my pack, I walked over the slabs and showed them where we had camped in 1948. By the time I was back with my pack, the tent was half up, and I assisted by carrying boulders. I think we were slightly higher than last time. We were on a slightly flattened bit of ground, where the snow was less deep than on the surrounding ground.
How I regretted the fact that we hadn't a water bucket, or even a bottle. Don filled the pans from the stream (a perilous undertaking he said, for the snow was liable to collapse into the water).
I tried to organise the inside of the tent a little, and then I got out my primus. I got it together, all but the piece of metal on top, and that was missing. How ashamed I was, I even felt I had let down all other women. I said that they would think "just like a woman", to which they replied that they didn't think that at all, they thought "just like Eileen Gregory". However, we found that it would work with the spanner over the top, when the trouble was that the spanner tended to slip off. The spanner and folded wind-shield worked best. Too late (i.e. we all had our boots off) we realised that we hadn't a stone for the primus, and the ground wasn't too flat. The pan went over, losing most of the precious water, besides flooding the groundsheet. We had to have a second calamity before we learned that the stove had to be held the whole time.
In the middle of all this, Arthur, Ed and Ernest arrived, and then went down again to the "base camp".
At about 7 o'clock we were visited by Paul and two friends. They had set out about 2 o'clock and got to the top, and then, while Norman was inspecting the top of no. 3 gully, he disappeared down it, so the others thought they had better go down that way!
The rest of our meal went off without incident. We had only one set of pans, so we all dived in with our implements. Because we had lost most of the water, we had to melt a lot of snow and Don found it very laborious to scoop in enough to get a panful of water.
John hadn't a waterproof sleeping bag cover, so he felt that entitled him to the middle place. I was rather sorry, for I knew how wet the cover would make my bag in a tent, yet I was right against the side, and therefore I needed the cover on.
It was snowing all night, and every time there was a gust of wind, Don would get quite excited. Apparently this was the first time he had really camped on snow and was wanting some exciting conditions. For my part, I felt that my surroundings were a little grim. I had been afraid to come again, after the glorious weather we had had in 1948; I tried to point out 'Moonlight Gully' to the others, and to tell them that, when the sun wasn't rising on it, the moon was always shining full on it. I felt they didn't understand. The top of Nevis had been covered all day and, in the evening, the conditions deteriorated.
In the morning I had said to John, "It is 7 o'clock" - to which he replied, "Well, what are you waiting for?" I said I was waiting for him to fetch the water (he had volunteered to do so the night before). At that he was out like a shot and, finding the boots frozen, he put on Don's as they were bigger. Meanwhile I had the primus filled and lit.
Breakfast consisted of porridge and bacon with lashings of fried bread, and finally tea, and then I held my boots near the primus until they were slightly pliable, and got out and put them on. I think the others must each have spent half an hour thawing out and then warming up their boots, I know my feet were cold long before we started, despite the fact that I kept running round the tent to try to keep warm. We collapsed the tent, and put a couple of small boulders on it, and then about 9.30 we set out.
I suppose I got my reward from the fact that I am always preaching caution, and wasn't listened to when I suggested leaving out the Douglas Boulder. I blame this for the fact that we didn't get up Tower Ridge.
Don started up the lowest rocks, John tied on in the middle, saying that the novice must go between the two experienced climbers. I said nothing, knowing that the end is the last place for the weakest and thinking that John would probably support Don far better than I could. I also hoped that, although we were three, we mightn't be too slow, if I could move up at the same time as John. From the first move I made I realised that the last idea could never be, for I soon found myself spread-eagled, with (probably) both knees on the rocks and, all the way up the rocks, I was grateful to think that my rope was receiving attention. The holds were more of a friction nature, than jugs and, when rock is iced, friction seems to me to be very slight.
How glad I was when we reached some snow up which Don had to cut, for Don's steps were good, and suitably placed for me, and I was able to carry coils up this part.
All too soon, we came to more rock, and then even Don began to find it difficult. He tried one or two ways, but finally agreed that our best way would be to cut down a strip of snow. I suggested that, as I was on the end I ought to start to cut down. I made about a couple of strokes with my axe and then admitted that I was wrong, and Don and John took it in turns to do the cutting. This was John's first ice-cutting (apart from practicing),; he was very rapid, even if his steps weren't quite as suitable as Don's for a poor ice-man like I am. Eventually we were able to traverse and reach the gully leading to the start of the ridge proper (we had been about 100' from the top of the boulder). I wasn't at all happy in this gully for, although the new snow was very thick, it wasn't firm on the frozen snow beneath.
How I enjoyed the little chimney from the top of the gully; I may not have appeared to, and I expect I was very slow, but the holds were incut, and I felt safe! While I was waiting my turn to climb it, I had time to notice the two people following us up the gully, one was Clive, and the other Dennis, who I had last seen running down the track from Montenvers, after I had come down from the Torino with him.
It snowed quite a lot of the time, but occasionally it brightened. How I was longing for the sun to come out, for the lovely little snow ridges we soon came to were just the subject I was wanting for my camera. At the first flattening of the ridge, there was quite a cornice too.
A little higher, Don tried the snow to the right, instead of keeping to the rocks on the left, and the others got ahead at this point. Next there were more rocks. I remember there was one quite awkward corner to get round – awkward because the crucial foothold was iced, and outward sloping – compared with the rocks. What a joy it was to have real holds cut in the snow – could anything have been more different than those sun-warmed rocks in 1948 which had scarcely seemed "moderate"!
Next, there were several little banks of snow to get up – they were completely frozen; our tricounis made no impression on them, but as the other rope had run up them without cutting, we did the same, although they seemed to me at the very maximum angle for this. I remember thinking at the time that a few steps cut on the way up would be double blessed for the descent. Although the other rope was quicker than us, we had to wait for them as soon as we came to a difficulty, for a difficulty meant that steps had to be cut.
The next rocks were steeper and the frost on them was becoming thicker (they had all been iced) and the others were having more trouble with them. Don got over one brute of a boulder and then John was up with some difficulty, and then I started. I was half way up, and was trying to make myself mantelshelf onto a snow ledge too far to my right, when the order came "Go down" – I immediately obeyed.
Previously I had been asked the time (it was ten to four), but, when the others had got in front, I had stopped advising retreat, for I knew Don would never turn back while they were continuing up. I climbed down that pitch, and then Clive and Dennis overtook my rope by abseiling down (nearly knocking John off in the process). They let John and Don use the rope. The snow banks without steps weren't at first so bad as I had feared, for we didn't go straight down them, but followed along most cunning little snow ridges which wound in and out, to the left of our route up.
On the lower one I didn't do so well, it was a case of traversing and I sat on my heels with my pick in, as my only anchorage, until John cut me some steps – he just walked on that snow, as though he were in rubbers on granite! Next we had to wait while they fixed the abseil rope again, after two abseils we were just round the awkward corner, but then the rope stopped, and I didn't feel that I should descend the next few steps with my rope unattended to (I had found it awkward enough on the way up!). First of all, John came down until he was in a place where he said that he couldn't pay out my rope, and then Don did the same, but eventually we got things sorted out, and had my rope back.
Next John got a little impatient with me as I descended face inwards, but then the angle eased off, and I could enjoy the little cornice again (but still no light for a photo).
We had to wait again for the abseil down the last chimney (although I wouldn't have minded climbing down that without) and then we were in the gully. It seemed to me that the western branch would have taken us more directly down; there was no new snow in it, and I could see that some steps had been cut in the hard snow – but I said nothing, for the other side looked less steep.
At first I duly followed down the steps, but then they stopped, for the others had glissaded. I waited until the others were organised, and then we glissaded one at a time. It wasn't until we got to the bottom that we realised that the snow was ideal for a standing glissade, but we had been sitting – I didn't realise how much snow had fallen during the day until I realised that all our ascending tracks in the gully had been covered. I thought in the morning that we'd spoiled the look of that gully for days!
Next there came a traverse to the right and finally more descent. The light was rather poor by this time (it was about 7 o'clock) and I started a little cautiously, until I realised that it was safe, and an ideal glissade – it was as much fun as is skiing down through deep powder snow, but the angle very soon became too gradual, and we had to run, and then we stopped to do up the rope. I was glad of the halt, for I was complaining of cramp in the thighs – after this the others said that they didn't believe I had done any skiing at all in Austria, but had spent my time sunbathing. All the time it was my arms which had felt inadequate, and I was very disappointed about this, for on some days in Austria I had thought that whatever else I wasn't doing, I must certainly be developing my arm muscles.
I left the others to see to the rope, and made my way straight down to the little tent. This was fun in the half light, in the smooth snow, where distance was so deceptive. The tent was practically buried – we soon had the stones off it and the snow shaken off and were then sorting out the gear. On the descent of Tower Ridge, one of the straps of my rucksack had broken, so I had asked Don to put it in his. I now reclaimed it, but I think all I put in it was my bag and waterproof cover.
The tent didn't roll up at all small, in its rather frozen condition, but that tied onto the outside of John's large rucksack. And so we started down, keeping to the path to the right of the stream – when we went over snow patches, there was no telling when a foot would sink right through – and this would upset the balance of my rucksack, slung over only one shoulder, despite the fact that I had a rope on top, trying to keep it on! Don was on ahead, and John kept drawing ahead, but he seemed to have a conscience about leaving me so eventually he handed me his torch and said that he'd follow behind. This time the snow level was very much lower, the tents in the Allt a' Mhuilinn were right above it, besides the tent on our side of the stream, there was one on the other side, a little higher up.
I was astonished when we got to the steep part above the railway, for the others were sitting down! I pointed out to them that this was the first rest we had had for 12 hours (it was then about 9 o'clock). They didn't agree; they said we had done nothing but rest on the climb, but standing shivering on little holds, or on ice steps isn't my idea of a rest. In any case we hadn't had a halt long enough to start on the sandwiches which we carried - an occasional square of chocolate had kept us going. We could see a light in the tent below, so we spoke in slightly raised voices about our need for tea – Arthur called up that he had the water on! – we were soon down drinking the tea, and then I tried to fill our water bucket – I had kept out of bog all the way down the Allt a' Mhuilinn and then, in that last minute, I went in above my knees!
The others put up the berg, partly to dry it out, and partly to put our things in and then we gave our undivided attention to the more important matter of cooking and eating – we had two lots of soup – one wasn't improved by the sandwiches we added to it. Next we had potatoes and tinned Danish Pork and, besides numerous brews of tea, we finished up with cocoa.
In the morning I told John that it was 7.15, but he didn't believe me, for his watch had lost half an hour, and it was about 8.45 before he stirred (there was no sign of life from Don, of course, at this time of the morning).
We didn't hurry over breakfast and it was about 2 hours before we were ready. It had snowed all night and was still snowing in the morning. This and our late start must have depressed me, for I left my camera behind. The strap of my camera-case was broken and, as I wasn't talking my rucksack with its broken strap it didn't seem worthwhile asking Don to carry it in his rucksack.
I wore a woolly, a jacket and an anorak, but I was soon stripping as we started uphill.
We passed a party with heavy packs, on their way either to or from the hut – I didn't have time to speak to them. Don later told me that Ian Charleston was among their number, but it was one of the others who asked Don if he had climbed Lot's Groove again recently. John remarked that, of every party we saw, either Don or I would know at least one – for instance in the restaurant in Fort William the 'pear or pants' boy from the Couvercle walked in – he had come on the bus organised by the Barnsley Mountaineering Club.
A little higher we caught up with Paul Russell. He had hurt a muscle, and was making his way slowly up the glen. We got a little useful information from him. He was able to tell Don the position of Gardyloo Gully, and to say that it had been climbed this year – I was all for no. 4 gully – it seemed to me to be too late in the day to start on an adventure like "Gardyloo" – and I chose no. 4 as I hadn't done it in 1948. Paul didn't promise much sport for no. 4 and, as Don soon got ahead, I found myself following him to Gardyloo.
The approach was most deceptive, it didn't look very steep, and there seemed innumerable little rock outcrops, on the top of which there ought to be a ledge on which we could sit. We soon found that there was nothing horizontal, that the snow was piled high on everything.
Fairly low down John took on the step kicking and fairly ran up to a flatter stretch, where we dug the picks of our axes into the ice and sat down, hoping that we shouldn't slide.
We ate chocolate and apple here and there. Finding it wasn't quite so warm sitting, as moving, I started up and the others followed me. I expected to be overtaken in a few steps, but no, the others dutifully followed me, for hundreds of feet. Eventually they started to say that I must let them know if I wanted them to take over the step-kicking, to which I would reply that, when they got too cold following, they must overtake me. I was beautifully hot now, except my feet. I believe it was easier for the first, for, after that, the new snow became even less firm on the frozen stuff beneath. On the whole I chose to walk up on avalanche debris, for I could at least drive my axe into this, as I couldn't into the bed of the gully. We went on up; past the traverse to Tower Tully – this looked incredibly steep – and eventually I thought that steps should be cut, and I halted. We decided to rope up and Don cut a platform on which we were to stand for the ceremony.
It was a huge affair, just what I was longing for. It was a real "horizontal oasis in a vertical desert", for Shipton's words kept coming into my mind as, on the way up, all my horizontal oases turned out to be mirages.
I suggested that I ought to go on the end again, so that John could support Don. The trouble was that there was a lot of cutting to be done, and when Don wanted a rest, John and I changed places on the rope. I didn't think I did too badly on this lower part, but both the others said that I was going far better before I roped.
We had watched another party rope up at the foot of Observatory Buttress. I was foolish enough to tell them that rocks were in no condition for climbing; they tried for half an hour, and they advanced rapidly up our gully. The first one was such a nice youngish lad, apologising for not taking my advice, and also for using our steps. The other two we decided we didn't like, they wore crampons and, with their haphazard technique, they were soon past us, not minding what they sent down on us.
John cut up to the ice, and then he waited for Don and Don had to wait until the last cramponner was out of the way. At first this man reminded me of myself, the way he seemed to be with climbers above his class, but afterwards I decided there was no resemblance.
We thought he'd kick all the ice away before he got up it, and, what I thought were harmless little natters, was I was told real good swearing.
Eventually he was out of the way, and Don was trying it, soon to be sent down by a lump of ice on the forehead, which drew blood. Soon he was over and out of sight, and still cutting from the number of chips which rained down. When he got to the end of the rope he told me to come on, and I put my axe in my waist loop and started up. When I was on it, there really did seem a bulge to me, but there was only one moment of delicate balance, getting my weight round from the corner, up which I had started, to the left, which provided the way over the top. Afterwards John said that I had used my knees the whole way up!
Don's handholds were adequate, but needed discovering, and soon I was making my way over to the right hand side of the gully, where, with Don holding me, I took in John's rope.
Next John did some more cutting – it was steeper here, and his steps didn't pander to my weakness on ice, to such an extent as Don's. Finally Don cut – up to the right, and then traversed below the cornice. I had great trouble with the corner steps of the zigzags, I don't know why – and then, below the cornice (the others afterwards said it was about 80º) I was very cautious. Finally I got my axe over the top, and was kicking my way up the loose vertical snow.
On top I found Ray College talking to Don, but I could hardly speak to him, I could only talk about the view – I can hardly remember a more thrilling moment – I saw now that Tower Ridge and the retreat had all been for a purpose – as we set out in doubtful weather up the gully it was as though we had been battling in it for two days, and how much greater was our reward at the end. Towards the top I realised that the sun was shining, but, as we feared, it went in before we reached it, but, it was only a local cloud between the sun and Nevis, and all the view to the south was beautifully illuminated. It was the blueness of the mountains which got me, shown up by the warm colouring of the valleys. As I looked at it I thought of Austria, and my thought was "keep your Austria, keep your Switzerland, keep your France even, just give me Scotland, the others aren't a patch on this".
Ray had to go down, before I had recovered from the view, and the three of us decided to go over to the Observatory. The others decided to run, I dropped my axe, and delayed them, and then they pulled me along. On the top we found that a way had been cut through about 18 inches of hard ice, into the observatory.
We wandered round each other getting the rope hopelessly tangled, while we divided out chocolate and apples. We began to wonder what the M.A.M. must have thought of us. Just before the top I had remarked that the angle was only 60º and John, following impatiently just behind me said that of course it wasn't steep. He didn't know why I was faffing about and, instead of swearing at his feet, as he had done all the way up, because they were cold (so were mine) he turned it onto me – all this while about a dozen of the M.A.M. were only just above us, over the cornice. Then when we were released from the gully, onto that most spacious of plateaux, I'm sure we behaved anyhow but as serious minded mountaineers.
At first, it was all too wonderful for me to think much about my camera, left in the tent, but soon I picked out more and more subjects for it, both large and small. As we passed the top of our gully it really looked terrific – so steep, and the frost, which was literally inches deep on the rocks to the sides, added enormously to the effect. We continued round the edge, we saw that, even if we had been practically to the top of the Little Tower, the day before, we still had a great deal further to go, to get to the top. We passed no. 2 gully, and then looked down on no. 3. There was a party nearing the top, but we had long since given up the idea of descending that way, for the cloud had left the top and the sky was cloudless – there was a little low cloud rather mixed with the hills near Ben Cruachan, but that was all. The Cuillins looked very near and very black, for there seemed no snow on them. The sun was shining on Loch Linnhe, making a golden band.
Still in our rather happy state, we sauntered round to Carn Dearg, still looking down a few gullies, but taking care as we had unroped. Next came a discussion about a line of descent; at first the others wanted to go down too near the cliffs for my liking, we traversed back a little and found a snow slope – horribly icy, but, to my amazement and delight, the others very soon developed a horror of it and we traversed further back to the south, a few steps being cut to get over the ice.
I remember John here took Don's rucksack and the spare rope, which I had taken over in the gully – actually they weighed nothing – but afterwards I wondered whether the M.A.M. might attribute my poor performance to their presence.
Soon we came to the ideal descent – there were marks of sitting glissades – and we went down, I should think, about 1,500 ft in this way – ending up down a little gully. I wish I had had the courage to go flat out, but I had kept myself under control the whole way – perhaps really it was as well for the slope ended over a little waterfall – Don stopped on the brink apparently. This took us to the Pony Track on the col by Lochan Meall an t-Suidhe and from there we traversed right into the glen and our usual way down, but there was nothing 'usual' about our descent this day; the sun was setting behind clouds and at first all was gold, the colour being reflected on the peaks to the east. Next it changed to a deep red and some of the peaks which didn't catch the reflection of this seemed to turn to more a greenish tinge – it was never the same for long. We arrived back at about 7 o'clock and found that Val, with Mary, Joe Brown and Slim Sorrel were visiting us from their camp in the wood below Achintee. There was just enough light left for them to see my sun tan. They stayed until the first brew of tea was made and then left us to our supper.
I was ordered to the back of the tent and told not to interfere – I found that difficult. We ate Don's fresh meat, and John's tin of meat, with the remains of the potatoes and pom (after soup, of course), we finished with a treacle pudding which had been duly heated for the recommended hour.
That night Don kept me talking until about 1.30 – John had said that, if we got up at 4 o'clock the next morning, there'd be time for a climb – I think Don didn't want me to wake at 4. I woke at 3.45 and told them the time, but they both told me to go to sleep, as it was snowing.
It was still snowing at a reasonable hour the next morning, so we didn't start breakfast until 9, and then it went on for hours. The hotel people paid us a visit, and then went off for the day with Ed and Ernest, who were also staying on. Eventually we roused ourselves and started packing and at about 12 o'clock we started along the railway to Fort William. I hadn't had time to brush my hair and the sight of other wild looking creatures in Fort William stirred me into doing it, before I'd go into the restaurant. There was just time for a meal before catching the 2.20, to Glasgow.
The day had been gradually clearing, until, as we left, there was blue sky to the north, and black cloud to the south. I washed and changed and tried to go to sleep (the view never has the same thrill as you leave a place).
We ate some of our food, went along by Loch Lomond, argued about the temperature of the carriage (I wanted the window shut!) and finally reached Glasgow, from where there was a train almost at once to Edinburgh.
We had two hours to spare for the 9.53, so we left our packs and walked along Princes Street – the men insisted on walking on the side with no shops. We entered a milk bar eventually, and I tried pineapple juice, but needed a cup of tea after it. We walked back the interesting side, claimed our luggage, and found a carriage with only two other people, leaving John to catch a later train to Newcastle. Arthur and I had a side to ourselves and I slept quite well; Arthur didn't. I don't know whether he thought that I had too much room, but it was still too soon after my Austrian trip for me to do anything but sleep.
We arrived in Nottingham about 6 o'clock and I soon learned that, by going North we had avoided many gales and much rain.
I caught the 89 o'clock bus to Bakewell, where I walked round the town, and had morning coffee in two shops! Next, I had a short walk towards Over Haddon. I carried my rucksack for this, partly because I didn't know where to leave it, and partly in the mistaken idea that it would be good for me! I arrived back at about 11.55 and found that Don had already arrived. I asked to carry the axes on my back, for I didn't want mine damaged by being strapped on the bike. For me the ride through Buxton, and down to Leek was spoiled by the fact that I hadn't enough clothes on. It was quite an interesting day, lots of cloud, and odd patches of sunshine, but the air was very cold – there was a little snow on the ground beyond Buxton.
Soon after Newcastle we stopped under a bridge, during a hailstorm, and I put on all my spare woollies and a cape as well. Our next stop was Llangollen – I just about lasted as long, for I was again getting very cold. There were no crumpets, so we had lots of cakes and tea to drink, while thawing out over the fire – we heard the end of the Grand National.
Don got the worst of it on the last part of the run, when we got off he was plastered with sleet, whereas I was only a little wet. We got off at the chapel and I went back to the hostel, to see if there was any room (camping had lost its attractions to people in our sodden condition). They were full, so we rode down to Blaen-y-Nant, where we learned that there was a barn – a palace of a place it seemed to us, with a bracken bed along one side, and a few odd benches set up. We soon had our wet clothes hung up to dry and had the primus on for tea, before preparing a real meal.
It had been a very rough night, and the wind was still blowing in the morning – I felt to snug in my bag, that I had no wish to get up. I suggested to Don that Y Garn would be a little nearer, but he seemed to prefer Black Ladders. He put on the tea about 8 o'clock and when I got up I found it quite a nice day, with patches of blue sky, and the sun coming through occasionally. We set off about 9.45, down the valley – among the sheep and young lambs (I had been watching the lambs from the motorbike, but apparently Don had had no time to notice them). We crossed the river and at Ty Gwyn shouted up the hillside. After the first, the track took a beautifully easy line, and I thought we'd be at Black Ladders in no time, but all was not so simple after we left the track. At first it was a case of ascending gently, towards the east (seeing wild ponies on the way), but when we got over this spur and could see down to the Afon Llanfar, I saw that we had a lot of height to lose and quite a way to go, before reaching our destination. I hated the descent, there was a little soft snow, and this balled to the boots, making the nails useless. When I got onto a thing of snow I enjoyed a sitting glissade. After nearly a mile up the floor of the valley, we came to the snow slopes, leading to the gully Don had in mind. This snow must have been hard work for Don, for I found it bad enough. In fact in places I waddled up on my knees, when I couldn't find any steps firm enough to stand on.
The first wall of rock proved easy to pass, and then we came to grass, barely covered by snow. This proved easy to mount for the turf was fairly well frozen, and the pick struck in it fairly well. There was one pitch which had a little interest as nothing was firm about the snow, and then we were both ascending together, the main part of the gully. Don was amazed at the difference in the gully, compared with the conditions at Christmas. There was far less snow then, but a great deal more ice.
Eventually we reached the "icicle pitch", the snow was quite high beneath the icicles, making the pitch not too long, but the ice seemed so unstable that even Don thought it would be better to traverse onto the rock on the left.
I expect he was bitterly disappointed, but how relieved I was that, on the whole, the rock was free from ice. At first, there was soft snow to content with, then frozen turf, and lastly rock. What amazed me was the fact that each time Don came to the end of the rope he had just come to a first rate rock belay (how I appreciate these, compared with the makeshifts I have to use on snow and ice).
The little chimney at the top I found awkward, I couldn't seem to get far enough in it, but the holds were good, so I expect it was merely that I am not used to rock. Don told me that I should have to jump to get back into the gully, but that wasn't necessary.
The snow scenery at the top was so interesting – there were sheets of, I suppose, wind-slab, completely detached from the snow beneath. Further up, the frost on the rocks at the side was increasing, and there was a crust on the snow in the gully – until about the lat 30 ft. Don could kick through into the softer snow beneath, but right at the top he had to cut (or perhaps it was remembering that I had to follow him, he thought it advisable!). For a long time I had been sure that the sun would come out, as in Gardyloo Gully, but it wasn't to be – this was a real tragedy, for the final slope was covered with frost crystals, each about 4 inches long, and beautifully intricate and with a little sun they would have been worth photographing for their own sake, as well as, as a base for Don cutting up. On the top, I suppose the wind eddied round, for here the crystals were in the form of little rosettes – perfect snow flowers.
The view south was such a contrast to that from Ben Nevis, for, as everything was blue and shining there, here it was all black, for there was no snow on the distant hills, and the clouds were low. Almost at once we were hit by the snow storm which we had seen approaching from Y Garn; we made our way over Carnedd Dafydd and down to the col before Pen-yr-Olen Wen, and from here Don made for the stone wall which we followed for some way. Lower down the snow was just as sticky as it had been in the morning and, although I was trying to keep dry, I did a sitting glissade down one length of turf. I spent half my time sitting, even if I was trying to run down it, so it seemed much better to sit on, and enjoy it. Next it was a run down the steep hillside to Ty-gwyn. I was dressed for snow and far too hot for this part! I think Don suffered from a lack of nails in his heels, for it's not often I can get in front of him.
We arrived back at the barn at about 4 o'clock and have a brew of tea, and finished our packing. I put on two of everything, hoping to keep warm on the bike.
We were on the road at about 5 o'clock, but it was raining (it was only snowing above about the 2,500 ft contour). This was a pity for it made us a little damp for the journey. At Corwen the roads were dry, but later in England we seemed to be following a squall. At Llangollen we thawed out again in the milk bar, aided by tea and toast.
I don't know why I was so miserable on the journey back, certainly I had cramp in my left thigh, and right shoulder, but I wasn't really too cold until I got off, when I started to shiver. I arrived back about 10 o'clock and how grateful I was for the hot milk and meat sandwiches which Mrs. Buckland provided.
Joy and I caught the 7.10 to Crewe. I looked out at Derby, but no-one else with a rucksack got on it. At Crewe, the Chester connection was waiting, and continued to wait for another half hour, with the result that we got to Chester just in time to catch the 11.45 and we couldn't have the tea I had promised Joy. This train was very crowded, and we started sitting in the corridor, until the guard unlocked the door into this van and let us sit in there. Besides a greyhound there were bundles of newspapers, and I found they made a comfortable seat. Joy, I believe was less fortunate! At Llandudno Junction we thought we'd like some tea, and managed to procure some boiling water to put on our leaves; however, we had no milk to put in it, so the operation wasn't altogether successful.
Joy had the right idea, at her suggestion we got in a first class carriage and found it very comfortable there, in our bags. I slept right through until they started to warm up the train. Joy apparently was woken at 4 o'clock.
I had slept much too soundly, and found it a great effort to pack up.
The night before had been cloudless, but as Joy had said, at 3 or 4 o'clock a few clouds had come over. The bus was late, but we got to Capel Curig at about 7.15, and started to walk along towards Pen-y-pass. Snowdon was in the clouds, but occasionally a snow corniced ridge on the right showed above them, also the summit cone of Crib-y-ddisgl – it was a great thrill to see the snow shining in the sun.
I called at the first farm on the left, and got a pint of milk, and then, after about a couple of miles, a lorry stopped and took us to Pen-y-Gwryd. As they lifted my pack down, they assured me that it must weight 56 pounds, but I think they were mistaken.
At Pen-y-pass we took the miners track until just before Llyn Teyrn. Here we found a stretch of grass which wasn't at too great an angle, was large enough to take several tents, would get a good view of the Horseshoe (if the clouds lifted) and, although it would offer no protection from the southwest, it was slightly protected from the north wind which was blowing at the time. We next made tea and then had breakfast. While Joy was cooking this, I took the photo of the Horseshoe which Joy wanted to take – after the clouds had cleared from the tops, but still remained in the sky. At about 11 o'clock we started up. We went round to Llyn Llydaw, and then cut up to the usual Crib Goch track, which, we soon discovered, we were not to have to ourselves.
We took it very leisurely – the snow was soft and easy, but I soon found that Joy was easily put off by the sight of rock. I felt rather a brute with two sound hands myself, persuading her that she could get up even if she had a broken finger still in plaster. Half way up we were overtaken by a party which included Douglas Milner and Fred Piggott, and when we got to the top we found that they were still there. We stopped for lunch, but, after a photo or so, the Rucksack Club moved on.
I went slowly along, keeping Joy in sight and, at the pinnacles, for the first time I didn't go up the Crazy one. At the foot of the last pinnacle Joy went on strike, and thought that a rope would give her the confidence she needed to get up it, for, she said, it was quite exposed.
I had rather envied a party, striding over the rock in vibrams but, as they said, I would have the advantage on the snow. A party watching us on the last pinnacle said that they had last seen me on the Roaches. We could see our corniced snow ridge, as soon as we got onto Crib; it was the one to the west of Cwm Glas Mawr; I tried to tell some of the people who overtook us, how thrilling it had looked above the clouds that morning, but they didn't seem to understand!
It was a lovely ridge to Crib-y-ddisgl. alternate snow and rock, with a glorious sweep of snow, down to the right. We stopped once or twice on the way, for photographs. One old boy who overtook us told us that they were perfect alpine conditions. The wisdom of his words slowly sank in; they were the first real alpine conditions I had known in Wales, for the sun was hot and the snow easy. All the other snow I have had in Wales has been Arctic, not Alpine.
At one time the snow crest narrowed a little and Joy considered that the rope would be a help. When I said that we'd both move together she seemed a little disappointed, and asked what I would do if she slipped. I told here that I should jump over the other side of the ridge, but I don't think she believed me.
I had been rather surprise to see a train wending its way up, but I consoled myself with the thought that the hotel would be open and we could get tea at the top. However, the sight of the railway line near Crib-y-ddisgl showed me that the train would never get higher than Cloggy station. The chief interest from the last slope was the sight of three skiers, coming down the strip of snow by the railway, one of them turned out to be Geoff Piggott.
There had been a cold wind all day, on the tops, and we soon left the cairn to sit in the sun to the south of the hotel and eat (it was about 4 o'clock). I was a little disappointed, this was the first time I had found Y Wyddfa free from mist, but I got no view, because of the heat haze. Harold Rastall arrived just as we were leaving.
We started to cut straight down to the Watkin, at first the snow was patchy, but soon we came to a long stretch, and we could see the track traversingt half way down. I took three steps on this, and sent a slight avalanche down. this caught the last of Harold's party, who were near the bottom of the snow – from their actions I gather that the person was carried down without an axe, for, at the bottom, they were fielded by one of those already there and then they started to ascend the snow.
Joy was far happier on the snow than I was and I think she'd have been only too pleased to have done a sitting glissade. I told her to keep to her feet, for the snow ended on a rocky edge. I kept below her just in case she got out of control. After all, I had thought about the accidents that winter, I couldn't chance anything in my party, and I didn't think that an axe would be very easy to use with a broken finger. There were slight standing glissades at times.
Next I went too low And we had some mucky vegetation to descend, before getting a sitting glissade, and then a traverse to the path.
I was rather disappointed at this part, for the haze was hiding the sea, and it's usually such a thrill to come down out of the mist and see the evening sun shining on the sea. We were soon up the first peak of Lliwedd where we had another rest – Joy walks up with all her clothes on, and then takes them off on the top.
I was so enjoying the walk along the edge that I nearly forgot to come down to the left! However, I remembered just in time, and we found an easy way. Back in camp at about 7 o'clock, we found John Goldsworthy putting up his tent, and a note from Don saying that he was camping near the Three Cliffs.
The three of us pooled our food and cooked together, John added his brawn to my Maggi soup, then we had pom, tomatoes and warmed luncheon meat, and finally the treacle pudding which had been heated on John's primus. This latter was quite different from the one we had had in the Allt a' Mhuillin – for that was thick with treacle. We had just drunk the tea when we had a visit from the two Dons, Nat and Wilf. They offered to help us move to their campsite, but we were quite happy where we were, particularly as, while they were there, we watched a huge orange moor rise to the east.
I slept out that night; it seemed fitting to finish this beautiful, although lazy day, in full sight of the Horseshoe, now illuminated by the full moon.
I kept opening my eyes to see if the sun had got anywhere near, but no, our windbreak to the northeast also protected us from the early morning sun. At 7.30 the sun touched the top of the tent, and I got up and started the primus. I was amazed to find that the water had about ¼ inch of ice on the top. I hadn't realised it had been such a cold night, although there was plenty of frost on my bag.
Joy again cooked breakfast and we packed, helped John get his motorbike over the bog and onto the road, and then went down to Pen-y-pass, where the others left their things in the cottage.
They had both decided that morning that they would prefer a walk on the gliders to a climb on the Three Cliffs. I thought that that would leave me free to climb with Don and Co., so I started carrying my pack down the pass.
I didn't know the people camping at the foot of Dinas Cromlech and went on to Carreg Wastad.
I saw a party on this; I didn't recognise them, and I had no intention of going any nearer, for they were being watched by a crowd sitting outside the Climber Club hut, and I decided that there was nothing I was more loath to do than climb on those wretched cliffs, which were far too near the road. I remembered that I had don no rock climbing since September, and that Don, to work up form, had done Slape when he arrived at 6.20 the evening before!
I continued down the road, past the deserted Glogwyn-y-grochen and then left my pack, hidden in some rocks, and started up the hillside. It was 11.30 by this time, and I was rather afraid that there wouldn't be time to get anywhere. I started up Esgair Felen, and, after an hour I believe I had ascended 2,000 feet. I was on a level with the top of the Devil's Kitchen, but that was a mile away, while Glyder Fawr was about the same distance and, in addition, 1,000 feet higher. The sun was hot (although the wind was cold), and I wasn't sure that the bus went from Llanberis at 3 o'clock, so I turned back.
The day wasn't wasted, for one thing, on my own, I had a wonderfully rhythmical ascent up the steep hillside, and for another there was the great thrill of the view across the valley to snow capped Crib-y-Ddisgl. I couldn't believe I wasn't in the alps, there was a clearness in the air, which had been missing the day before.
On the lower slopes I went through a little wood; I felt that it should have had primroses in flower, it was that sort of a day. As I got onto the road a charabanc stopped, but I had to turn up the road, to get my pack.
As I was approaching Nant Peris a man with a fishing rod caught me up, and started to speak to me. He was able to confirm that the Bangor bus left at 3 o'clock and he was also able to tell me that the 2.45 from Nant Peris connected with it, and he suggested that I spent the time drinking tea (it was then about 2 o'clock) in his caravan. I couldn't have thought of anything better myself. In the caravan I was firstly supplied with fruit and then the teapot was put next to me and I kept helping myself, and I made myself sandwiches from the pork which Jack supplied. After a wash in hot water it was time to leave and catch the bus to Llanberis.
The Bangor bus was waiting, but no Joy. I got in thinking that she might get in lower down in the village; also, I thought I had better get to Bangor, for, if she lost the bus John could take her on his bike. A friend of Jack's got in very soon, a local girl.
At Bangor, Jack gave me his lighter rucksack to carry out of the bus, I promptly deposited it on the lap of the man across the gangway, knocking off his glasses! Then, as Jack was getting out he stumbled down the steps – people found it hard to believe that we had only been drinking tea after that. There was no Joy at the station, so I said I would wait for her and keep an eye on Jack's rucksack, if they went off for a drink. They came back and joined me on the grass in the sunshine, then Jack had the idea to waste a colour film on the two contrasts – the beautifully dressed local girl, and the very tattered climber.
At about 5 o'clock a motorbike drew in, it was John with Joy, for some reason we both seemed fully of apologies. John left to return to the Pen-y-pass for his rucksack and Joy, Jack and I caught the 5.16 (Joy and I found that cheap day return tickets were cheaper than single fare to the junction). It was a lovely day, and Joy was able to see the coastline, which she had missed in the night when we arrived.
At Chester we said goodbye to Jack and at Crewe we had time for a cup of tea before catching the 8.50. We arrived in Nottingham at 12 o'clock and, as I had a hot bath, I didn't envy Joy her further journey to Loughborough, to her cheerless digs.
Miraculously, the weather seemed clearing up again, and I had high hopes as I left work early, changed, picked up my rucksack and made my way to the Victoria station for the 5 o'clock to Sheffield. I was in time for the duplicate at 4.50, but it didn't stop at Sheffield, and then my train was half an hour late. I spent the time drinking tea, but I should have had more to eat, had I known that the Yorkshire Dales possess no cafés.
My carriage companions were very interested in my pack, and were pleased to know that I didn't carry it far. I arrived at Sheffield at 6.30 and found Don still waiting (he had begun to think I wasn't coming, until he enquired and found that the train was late). We soon had the packs strapped on, and I ate an apple, and set off through Barnsley and Wakefield to Leeds.
We Found the signposts here rather few and far between, but eventually found the trams on the Otley road. We had one rather nasty experience, the low sun was blinding us, and we didn't see a traffic light until we were practically past it – as Don said, you're not expecting such a thing, right outside a built up area. We went through Ilkley and Skipton to Settle, where, at 9.15, we thought we'd stop for a cup of tea, only to find that the only café had just closed. We got a gallon of petrol just outside the town, but their café they told us was for transport only. I'm afraid that this put me out for the rest of the journey. It was soon dark and we sped along the Kirby/Lonsdale bypass to Milnthorpe, where we joined the A6. After about 6 miles, we branched off to the left, following the signposts to Newby Bridge. I had the R.A.C. route, and a torch, but I wasn't altogether a success as a guide; I found, for instance, that the only way of shutting off the torch was to unscrew the bottom, and this prevented my getting it together again quickly.
Our next village was Greenwood, and then it seemed a long way to Broughton; Don stopped on one hill to read a signpost, the hill was steeper than he expected, and he started to go backwards, he could get neither to the brake, or the gear change, I suddenly felt a violent blow on my ribs and then, as the bike fell over, I was most thankful to be able to roll clear of it. That happened just beyond Gawthwaite, and we were able to see that we were still right for Broughton and we continued (just for the moment I had hoped that the incident was serious enough for us to stop and brew up – I was beyond wanting tea by this time, but I should have liked a rest). We went through Bootle and, just before Ravenglass, at about midnight, we were pleased to speak to another human being – a policeman, who pointed out the way to Wasdale. Don got rather good at anticipating the turns, after the hump-backed bridges. Eventually we got there before we expected, for we missed the turning, but we found it on the return, and camped in the field across the river from Brackenclose, as in 1949.
We heated a tin of soup, but preferred sleep to the trouble of making tea. Don put on his headlights when more bikes were heard, but no-one else came as far as our field.
It was a lovely morning, and we could see in its full glory the snow on Scafell, which we had seen vaguely by starlight the night before. We started breakfast about 8 o'clock and, at about 9, we found Val and Peter, with car complete with wireless, also Wilf and Mary, and Ray and Chuck, with motorbikes. They were just over the bridge from the road, and showed no inclination to walk as far as our field, so we had to join them. We were back in time to save half my cake, the dog had had the other half, after it had finished off my bacon! We packed and everyone finally camped in the field on the right of the road. There was no sign of Nat and Don Chapman, so Wilf and Ray took their bikes to Seascale where they were just in time to rescue them from the taxi which they had just entered! I got my own back on Nat for calling me a plutocrat for going by train to Wales. This time the mode of transport was reversed.
At about 11.30 we set out for Scafell, Don Chapman very soon insisted on carrying my rucksack. I couldn't understand why, for there was nothing of his in it. In exactly an hour we reached Hollow Stones – how I admired the enthusiasm of those who climbed the boulder. Next we ascended the scree; I found this most difficult and took to the snow as soon as possible. I had no axe, but I was perfectly happy on this easy spring snow.
Someone mentioned Moss Ghyll Groves, so I suggested that we had lunch first of all – we sat down and I took out my sandwiches, only to find that I was the only one to have brought any food – however, we shared what we had.
Two other climbers came along as we set off; I had last seen them in the Chalet Biolay. We next set off up Moss Ghyll – no-one mentioned roping and, as it was my first time out with the Valkyries, I didn't dream of bring up the subject; I followed Nat, and was rather surprised to find that he watched me up pitches, in case I needed any help. Against Nat's advice, we continued up the chimneys, only to find ourselves at the top of pitch 5, instead of 3, as we should have been, and then everyone said "Why weren't we roped?" No-one else made a move to rope up and, when Ray mentioned it to me, I suggested that we could rope down, and this we did, although I never can enjoy an abseil down a chimney. I don't think it was really a good idea, for a stone was knocked down which only narrowly missed Ray.
All along I had been telling Don that I must start this climbing season with a diff, or at the most a 'ud', when the time came, and Wilf and Nat had me to rope up with them for Moss Ghyll Grooves. I was only too pleased to join on. Nat climbed in boots, Wilf led in rubbers and, as I don't pretend to do hard severes in nails at the best of times, I also put on rubbers and put both pairs of boots in my rucksack. From the way Wilf led the first pitch I gathered that it wasn't quite as simple as it appeared, although Nat didn't find it any harder in boots. When my turn came, I moved up onto dry rock and started to dry my rubbers – one of the others immediately put his shoulder in front of me so that I could use his anorak as a door mat. I found the first few moves very difficult, partly because I wasn't sure that my rubbers were quite dry, and partly because it was the first time I had worn rubbers for 8 months. I suggested going down, but fortunately the others said no. Eventually I reached Nat, who then joined Wilf 15 feet higher. Nat told me that one of the handholds was surprisingly good. I was most grateful for it, so, when Don Chapman led the second rope up I told him about it – but he didn't seem at all in need of it.
Chuck when down when we roped up, so the two Dons and Ray joined up together. At the Oval, the second rope disappeared from sight, they were inspecting the flake crack, and I really began to wonder whether they were trying it, but they returned eventually.
There was a wet band down the next slab, but fortunately the holds were to one side or the other of this. The way started up the right hand corner and then a move was made across the wet band to footholds in the middle of the slab. The chief difficulty in standing on these holds was caused by the right handhold, it was too good and everyone was reluctant to let go. After this, hand and footholds seemed to peter out, until the arête was reached. Wilf didn't take long to get over this, but then rested a moment before continuing up the slab, traversing back to the right. Near the top of this 45 ft pitch, he stopped to tell us that there were ledges "that wide" – indicating about 9 inches. Nat was soon up, and then they hauled the rucksack up, and it was my turn. I got up the crack, stood on the little footholds and then reached over for the new handholds and decided they weren't adequate. Feeling very silly in front of a new club, I announced that I couldn't do it. They didn't immediately pull on the rope, which would have swung me across, they waited patiently and poor little Don climbed up below me and said that he'd hold my feet on. After all that I had to have a really good try and, of course, I found the finger holds adequate, once I used them. Near the top I could quite see Wilf's excitement about the big ledges and I passed the good news down to those below, but again I don't suppose the got as much thrill out of them as I did.
I was able to watch the two Dons on the traverse. I expected little Don to be tired after holding my feet on, but no, he just walked straight across the slab, as also did big Don in this boots. I continued to refer to that move as the "crux of the climb", but everyone else denied that the climb had a crux; they said it was of the same standard all the way up. Wilf and Nat went up to the Look-out and from Nat's description of Wilf on the next part, I wished I could have been on Pisgah with my camera. Nat untied to give Wilf enough rope for this 80 ft pitch. Next he went up 20 ft or so and, belayed by Wilf, brought me up, where I sat until it was my turn. It was a magnificent slab, a miniature Botterill's I was told. Perhaps I was finding the climbing a little easier than on the first pitch, as Nat taken the rucksack. On our left all the time was the cliff of the central buttress, which seemed absolutely sheer. For me the climb kept its interest right to the end, for the last pitch was very steep and, seeing me rather grab for holds, Nat tightened the rope a little (the handholds were good, but I needed two of them at a time to keep me on.
I was quite pleased to hear the others say that they considered it as hard as many a Welsh 'vs' in fact they said that they didn't know a better 'severe' – the way it kept its standard the whole way up, without having any "impossible" moves on it (for no-one else agreed with me about the crux).
We had to wait some time for the others and divided up the few odds and ends of food which we had. It was about 4 o'clock, so we assured big Don that there wasn't time for C.B. as he had hoped, and we made our way over the top and down towards the camp. We stopped once or twice on the way, to rest in the in the sun, for it was warmer on this side than it had been at the top of the climb. We made for the patches of the snow, for they were the easiest way down, but it wasn't until about the last, which faced north and was steeper, that we almost got a standing glissade.
That evening there was an exodus of bikes and cars from the camp, to the hotel, Don and I, eating more elaborate meals than the others, were last and, at the Wasdale Head we found the old bar deserted, so we wandered round, looking in all windows, until we found everyone in a front room. How times have changed!
I spent the evening reading old Climbers Club journals, of the early nineteen hundreds.
On the way back, I was forced to drive the bike – I hoped Don would get tired of starting the engine every time I stopped it, but no, and eventually I found myself clutching the handlebars and moving forward. I set myself a 5 m.p.h. speed limit, much to Don's disguse.
Saturday afternoon we had watched the clouds come down on Pillar, and later on, onto Scafell, where they remained the next morning, but they gradually cleared, even if it was overcast most of the day. Don and I started breakfast about 7.30 – I never saw the others eat a serious meal, they seemed to spend their time in camp sitting about and gossiping – quite a good idea, I thought.
At about 9.45 I said I'd set out for Scafell – the others must have started about 10 minutes later, they overtook me on Brown Tongue. I arrived at Hollow Stones, 1 hour 10 minutes after leaving camp.
Again we made our way up the scree and then the snow, and had an early lunch in the same place as the day before. This time the prospect wasn't so promising. They had definitely set out to have a look at C.B. and it was streaming with water. There were some regrets that it wasn't attempted the day before, for we realised that it wouldn't be in condition again this holiday. The water was coming from the snow on top. Wilf went to have a closer look at it, while the rest of us traversed round on the snow to Mickeldore. At one point I did a short involuntary glissade, where a snow step gave way beneath me, but I soon stopped, much to everyone's amazement (strange to say I was quite happy on this spring snow, despite having no axe).
From the ridge we descended as far as the foot of Mickeldore Grooves. No-one was a purist and descended the "Bergschrund" to the foot of the climb; everyone stepped off the top of the snow to a slab on the right, from where the stance below the second pitch was easily reached. The two Dons and Nat stood in this stance, I waited below and Wilf and Albert went to have a look at Great Eastern Route (Ray had gone to Pillar, with Ernest and Ronnie). Little Don was in stockinged feet and retreated once from the groove above. He asked for a shoulder and was soon up, and made nothing of the "very difficult" move into the groove on the right (what is a very difficult move on a 'vs' route?).
He slowly made his way up this groove until after 55 feet, he reached the belay, and announced that he must recuperate before taking in Nat's rope. I was just tying on to big Don's rope when little Don told me that if I tried it I should find it very strenuous. I was about to untie, but big Don tightened the rope and told me to come on.
Next Nat climbed the pitch in boots – he didn't have a shoulder, and made nothing of the first part, finding a h old on the left wall for a foot – this seemed to give him better balance. He hesitated at the "very difficult" move across, and then made his way up slowly to little Don. Next big Don and I changed ropes, so that I could have a shoulder. I moved up a few feet, stood on Don's shoulder and then he straightened up. At firsts, I tried to keep my weight off Don, but soon that became impossible as the handholds petered out, also my hands became numb on the wet rock (it was streaming with water). Don said the worst part for him was after I had left his shoulder and he was holding on my boots at arms length. I was very slow, for I couldn't seem to get in balance, the rock was pushing me out all the time. Next came the step across, I could see the mark left by Nat's nails (I won't call it a hold), but I couldn't find adequate handholds; eventually, in desperation, I made the move without adequate handholds and it worked out O.K. With the aid of step by step instructions from those above, I got up the rest – there was another move over to the right, and then I came to the dividing of the ways; Don said he'd come straight up the rock, while Nat said he'd stepped over to the right onto a grass sod. I lifted up this sod, found there was no rock beneath it, so put it back again into its groove and stepped up onto it. As the others saw it give way they tightened the rope, but by that time I had my elbows on the grass on the stance.
Next, big Don came up and, like Nat, made little of it, and then little Don, in rubbers, started up the last pitch. I couldn't watch hi, but I saw he was making rapid progress. At one time I was told he was having to pedal pretty hard on a greasy patch, and soon after that I heard the sound of his hammer, which set my mind at rest for the rest of the pitch. Apparently he had found a piton in position, and had given it a tap to see if it were firm, before putting on a running belay.
First of all he ran out all the rope, and then some came back, and then it was Nat's turn to start. I was able to watch him occasionally, the part I most remember was at the foot of the grooves, when he was on both knees, appearing to be trying to tunnel in, which wasn't a scrap like Nat. At the piton, he stopped to rearrange the rope – apparently it was quite a hair-raising place to unrope! Eventually, he was up the top, and the end of the long rope was sent down to me and, despite Nat's advice not to do it in boots, I set out like that, leaving my rucksack and little Don's boots for big Don to bring up this pitch. Once I saw the size of the holds on the slab above, I changed my mind about my footgear, and asked Don to send up my rubbers. I had to wait until Wilf was up the pitch below, for he and Albert had retreated from the Great Eastern, and were joining on our rope. I put on rubbers, tied my boots to my waist and set off up the slab. What a comfort it was to follow Nat's scratches, at least they pointed out an occasional hold, but what Nat did between these holds, I have no idea. I made my way left to the crack, and then followed this up to the overhang. I was very cautious for the rock was slightly greasy in the crack. I got my hand on the good hold above the overhang, and tried to find something for my foot, but couldn't as the rock was wet underneath. I retreated to try to rest, also to spy out the land, but was soon at it again, for there was no resting place, also there seemed no holds to discover either. Fortunately Don gave a pull on the rope, which got me up, for I'd never have done it that day without, but it made me very ashamed.
I had thought that once in the grooves all would be simple, in fact, when I saw the piton I thought that it was wasted up there, and that it was needed to safeguard the leader on the overhang. I was to learn, the pitch didn't let off at all. At the bottom, although the holds were minute, they were at least horizontal, in the groove they were mostly vertical. I'd ask little Don where the next hold was and he'd tell me that it was the ledge above my head. Eventually I was level with the "turfy step" on the right, I had both feet on a piece of rock sloping at about 60º and, without handholds I found it a most delicate move to get my right foot across and onto the turf.
I waited while Don moved over to be above me for the last part; he said that Nat had come straight up. That involved a high step up with no handholds, so I preferred to follow the official route (also Don's) and traverse right – this was streaming with water and I climbed it mostly on my hands.
I told poor Don that the pitch was completely unjustifiable as a lead; he didn't seem to think so, so presumably he had quite a lot in hand on it. I put on my boots and hurried down, but there was quite a traffic jam on Broad Stand. I was able to watch big Don on the overhang; he had taken Nat's advice and was in rubbers, and he had thrown down the boots onto the snow where Nat and Ted Goddard had enjoyed themselves pouncing on the boots before they shot off down to the scree. I continued down and watched Wilf and Albert from Mickeldore Ridge – neither had any trouble on my wretched overhang. Nat was then very noble, he carried the three pairs of boots up.
Quite a number of walkers passed to and fro and then Mary and Chuck passed, on their way from the Pike to Scafell.
From the top of Mickeldore Ridge we had a wonderful time glissading down the snow. At first it was almost fast enough for a standing glissade. Lower down, when I kept going down various distances through the snow I had a sitting glissade, it was very wetting, but I put on dry pants in camp.
We ate our remaining food at Hollow Stones and then descended to camp, rather to big Don's disappointment, for he wanted to try Great Eastern.
We sat outside and drank much tea, and then got down to the serious business of cooking supper. We used my primus, with the piece of metal which Jack had given me. The stove wouldn't go properly, so I concluded that it was too full (pumping made it worse), eventually we put some paraffin into Don's to finish heating up the main course. We finished about 9.30 and Don thought that too late to go to the hotel. I wasn't sorry, for it gave me an excuse for walking along – the others didn't believe me when I said that I had driven Don's bike!
The wind sprang up that evening, and, until about 4 a.m., I spent my time pegging down the tent; if only I'd had the energy to get out and sleep in the open (it was a lovely night), I'd have had a good night's sleep.
As I had promised, I woke Wilf and Albert at 7 o'clock and then got back while Don got the breakfast. Nat soon arrived and sat outside the tent in the sunshine and drank tea. How I envied the Valkyries, having time to sit and laze and gossip in the morning. Don and I were hard at it until 8.45 when we had finished breakfast, struck camp and packed, so I set out for Gable, saying I'd meet the others below Tophet Wall.
Just before the gate, Chuck overtook me with Nat on the back of his bike. Nat was in an awful state, because he couldn't find his rubbers (they were in my rucksack). I then continued on my way, while they returned to camp. It didn't occur to me to take the "less arduous" route, after Burnthwaite I started up Gravel Knees and, at my own lazy pace I soon seemed to reach Moses' Finger, from where I struck the end of the traverse, which I followed to Tophet Bastion. I was rather surprised to find that the others hadn't got there in front of me, in some mysterious fashion. In fact, I lazed in the sun for ¾ of an hour before they arrived, at about 11 o'clock. I was surprised they came from the Styhead direction.
We put on rubbers and big Don gave me the other end of his rope and he set off up Tophet Wall. It was an impossible looking wall, but he was soon up and it was my turn. I tried the first move and came down, and said I didn't feel like climbing. Apparently I wasn't allowed not to feel like climbing for I was told to come on, and someone below who knew the climb said something about the first move being the hardest (isn't it always?).
I could see that all the holds were there, the trouble was that it was so steep and this made the moves strenuous and I was in a lazy mood.
Once I could force myself to make the moves they were easy enough, for there plenty of incut holds. The cliff got the full benefit of the sun, and it was warmer on the rock than it had been below.
Don moved on, and then I brought up Albert. From the top of the next pitch, the mountaineer in me was horrified at missing the easy route which came up on the right (the original route).
I found the next part the "crux"; Don left a runner before he traversed left, and at one point I touched it, but finally I overcame the temptation and climbed it without help from it; the holds were small and the wall was steep, but the footholds were adequate and I found that it was possible to balance up on them, with only the small finger holds. I soon traversed over to Don, saw him up the next pitch and brought up Albert. I had left on the sling for Albert, I rather underestimated his climbing ability, but he didn't seem to mind.
I didn't find the movement up the crack particularly awkward, and then came to the semi-hand traverse. The footholds on this really were adequate, but for some unknown reason I found that it hurt my bruised ribs.
The next pitch looked rather difficult, but it proved delightful once I had started on it. From the pinnacle I found it a long stride into the crack, but I didn't find the crack itself a serious lay-back. It was short, also the rock was so rough that my body seemed to stick on. Once I had made my hand over the top, I was able to swing round the outside and end up in a horizontal position. I don't think Don realised that it was very much less strenuous to swing round on my arms, than to try to pull up on them.
After a little scrambling we joined Wilf, Nat and little Don who had come up another route.
On the way down, I thought I was moving very cautiously for I was trying to save my rubbers, I trod on a stone, nearly a foot across, and it gave way and fell on big Don's neck – I heard a lot about that, and, in self defence, I had to tell Don a lot about my bruised ribs!
We had lunch. Wilf gave me a little lecture against guided climbing. Little Don said he didn't feel like leading a 'vs' and eventually we all moved along to Eagles Nest Direct.
Wilf went down, as he wanted to leave early, and Don and I started up first, so that we should be down quickly. What a delight that climb was, if only I could have started my climbing this holiday on something of that standard. It looked so steep and the holds were so adequate. Don and I were soon up to the ordinary route and waiting for the three booted climbers ahead to move on. I have never seen such enormous boots as those worn by the last man, he was taking the climb rather seriously too, unlike Don and I, who overtook them, moving alpine fashion.
We moved up a pitch or so, decided that it would be quicker to go down, and passed the other party again on our way down (they didn't seem to mind). At the junction of the ordinary and direct routes we found that little Don and co. had arrived and that the ordinary route had a continuous stream of people in it; however, a man who had just come up said that we could get down to the (true) left, and this we did, and so we returned from our fourth and last climb that holiday, each of which had been full of character and full of interest all the way up.
Back by our boots we found Clive and Dennis, with whom we chatted until we were booted and ready to descend the way I had come up – the scree I had toiled up wasn't so pleasant for the descent as I had hoped!
Back at camp we made one lot of tea, but the paraffin ran out before the second lot was ready. We left at about 5.30 on a perfect sunny afternoon. I can't believe that Wasdale has ever looked more beautiful - the primroses were still out, besides the bluebells and trees, and everywhere was so green. How different the ride was compared with our arrival on the Friday evening!
All went well until we were about 4 miles from the A6; here we found a solid block of cars on our road, hardly moving. At first we kept in the queue, until a bus driver in front of us took the trouble to get out of his bus and come back and tell us that, on a bike we needn't wait. After this we sped along past all the cars (there was hardly anything coming the other way) and for the 6 miles we were on the A6 we did the same.
At Milnthorpe we thankfully turned off onto the Settle road, where the traffic wasn't at all bad, and we were able to make good time.
Again we wanted a cup of tea, but there were no cafés, only fish and chip places. Eventually, in Ilkley I noticed one of these shops said "Supper saloon behind". I went in to see if we could get a pot of tea, and was told that we could get cups of tea with fish and chips, so that's what we did. The rest was very pleasant, and I found that the food went down quite well. Outside, we found Ted Goddard and friend, who had recognised Don's bike; they had left the Lake District and were camping that night on Ilkley Moor.
I had plenty of time to catch the 12.08 from the L.N.E.R. which landed me very near home in Birmingham.
The rest of the ride to Sheffield wasn't too bad, at Leeds we found the ring road and avoided the city centre.
I got to Derby bus station at 7.05 p.m. There was no Don, so I walked to the railway station, and found that the train left at 8.15, should Don not arrive, but we met on my way back to the bus station. We fixed the baggage and left just before 8 o'clock. Don took the road through Burton and Lichfield to the A5, which soon got us to Shrewsbury. We went through the town, hoping to find a garage open; we asked three times before we found our way back over the English bridge to Lea's garage, Bellevue, the only one open.
We soon made up for this 20 minutes lost time, and were at Llangollen by 10.30, for the usual cup of tea, which fortified us for the rest of the run to Llanberis. Don took his bike some way up the Snowdon track, but then forked right, along the track on the valley bottom. He was looking up to the left, trying to see the barn, when he went over rather a bump, after that I tried to persuade him he had gone far enough!
He left the bike in a field and we shouldered our packs, made our way up to the railway, which we followed along until we came to a gate, where we crossed, and found ourselves just below the barn.
The wind sounded rather wild from within the barn, and there was an occasional shower, and I had no incentive to get up. Fortunately Don had a little more enthusiasm, and breakfast was soon on. We had nearly finished by the time Joe Brown, Slim and Dorothy arrived. We weren't a very jolly party, the others suffering from their night's journey and I was annoyed with the weather.
Eventually Don and I went up to the half-way house, arriving just before the heavy rain. We had two cups of tea, and then, when the others arrived, we were forced to drink three more. I was amazed at the friendly atmosphere in the hut; Mrs. Williams knew Slim and Joe very well. Eventually we set off up, in the mist, and found our way to the crag, the party traversing above the middle rock to the foot of Longlands.
I have never seen a more awe inspiring sight than the slab of rock to the east of Longlands, stretching up unbroken, for hundreds of feet, the top being lost in the mist. Don was to lead Longlands, as he had never done it, and Joe was to second it. I was tied on next until Slim suggested that he should take Dorothy and me up the Far West Buttress. I readily agreed, I was in no mood for a serious rock climb, and the rocks looked terrifying in their dripping state, for this point exaggerated the angle. I rather disgraced myself scrambling down, having to have a hand from Slim at one point (he already had my rucksack).
We roped up at the foot of Far West with Dorothy in the centre. Dorothy shook me when she started talking – speaking most casually about Lots Groove and she seemed to have done quite a number on Cloggy, later I was to find that she had climbed nothing less than a 'vs' in Wales.
It was suggested that we mightn't come down to the same place, so I started up with my rucksack – Slim took it after the first pitch, which again made me very ashamed. I found the first pitch distinctly awkward, it was steeper than the rest, and the rock was very slimy – it was alright for boot nails, but not so good for the fingers. Slim kept the rope too tight (as he had done for Dorothy) and so he must have known that at one point my foot slipped off the rock (I was alright for I had reached the good handholds). Next I was standing on a stance, trying all holds to get me off it, when a voice floated down something about a pinnacle – I thought that it must be a pinnacle I was standing on so I shouted back that I was on it and was trying to get off, there was a puzzled silence at first until I was corrected and told that they meant the Pinnacle Club! I cannot talk when I am concentrating on rock, so I was rather slow on the rest of the pitch, telling Dorothy about the advantages of the club, between making moves up the rock.
After this pitch I seemed to warm up to the climbing, perhaps it was because it was at a gentler angle, or perhaps because I hadn't the rucksack. I watched Slim climb a slab simply for the pleasure of it (there was a far easier crack to the left) and Dorothy followed up the same way. I was afraid I'd let down the Pinnacle Club by taking the easier alternative, for I can never do those moves, stepping up on nothing with nothing for the hands, but when I came to it I found that both hand and foot holds, although small, were present, and I enjoyed it.
Between slabs there was quite a lot of moving up on turf – I didn't realise at the time that this is valuable training for Cloggy climbing. Poor Slim felt rather out of it at times, he'd tell Dorothy to come on, and she'd say that she must wait until she had finished what she was saying to me. Higher up the sun almost came out (not quite) and the rocks were quite dry in places – there was a lovely view over towards the coast, where it looked particularly blue. Dorothy was a long time on the last pitch. Apparently she had thought anything better than the finger traverse, and had gone up to the left, only to find that desperately difficult. When I got there I realised that if I used Slim's method I'd have to swing on two finger tips, placed too far over and I'd either make it or be off, so I preferred to try Dorothy's route. Slim was able to direct me pretty well, the crucial move was to get my left foot onto a very high hold, after that it was easier, but I complicated matters by treading on some turf which wasn't as firm as is usual on Cloggy. I had thoroughly enjoyed the climb, and had found it most satisfying in boots. I had found it surprisingly easy, but I rather suspected that that was due to the tight rope. Dorothy was very neat, and I could copy her methods at times, but I expect I disgusted her at other times by using my knees.
We hurried down to Joe and Don who were waiting at the foot of our buttress, apparently Don had been most impressed by Longlands in boots, and had had to get Joe to lead the last pitch, as the holds had been so greasy.
We returned to the barn, via the half-way hut, and cooked supper between wandering out to admire the sunset. It was a beautiful sight, but looked a little watery.
We turned in quite early, but at 12, before I was asleep, I was astonished to hear footsteps (I don't know why I was so surprised ); it was Ronnie of the Karabiner, and friend, and it was some time before they had finished brewing and had settled down. They woke everyone but Joe, who slept on with his hand out, folded over a magnificent, but imaginary jug.
I woke up at 5.30 (it had been suggested that we should get up at 6 o'clock). It didn't seem too bad a morning, so I was disgusted at 5.55 when there was a slight shower. At 6 o'clock I told Don the time, and mentioned the shower, so he suggested another five minutes. Slim heard this and ordered me to light the primus at once. I obeyed!
I gave the four tea in bed, and it only inspired them to go to sleep again! Don got his breakfast in bed, and still showed no signs of moving.
Eventually packs were more or less packed, and Slim and Dorothy set out with theirs for the half-way house, and I soon caught them up, unladen. Slim and Dorothy were on their way to the Three Cliffs and invited me to join them, but I said no, for, despite the weather, I had a hankering after Cloggy; also, as the bike was near the barn, it would mean coming up again in the evening. Joe and Don soon arrived and we had a tea drinking session and gave Mr. Williams the measurements of the doors and windows of the barn, for he was going to see the agent the next day to see whether the barn could be repaired for the use of climbers. Dorothy and Slim left to drop down to the Three Cliffs, and the rest of us made our way round by the bottom of Llyn dwr Arddu, to the foot of the West Buttress. We sheltered from a couple of showers and discussed climbs. Joe said we must climb in stockinged feet. I said that I didn't like that, couldn't we do something which would 'go' in boots; Joe said no, Narrow Slab would be better in stockinged feet – Narrow Slab of all climbs! I suggested that Sunset Crack might be a better idea, for I remembered that Ken Brindly had said that it was my type. The others wouldn't agree so I had to give in and put on my rubbers with my larger pair of socks on top. Joe said that I could tie on the end of the rope, as there was no unprotected traversing.
As I watched Joe, I began to doubt this, he couldn't seem to get off the ground, and things were made more difficult by the rock being loose. I kept looking at the book and wondering why this didn't correspond, when Joe admitted that it had never been climbed before, and that he was trying to make a direct start. He gave up eventually, and started to get above middle rocks to the normal start. Apparently Joe wore through one of his socks on this horrible place; neither Joe nor Don found this easy, I nearly gave up, but refused to be turned back by vegetation, not on the climb at all. Eventually I was able to stand up on the rock as high as I could and then mantelshelf onto turf before it gave way. For the hands it was a case of thrusting them behind the sods. I did the same as the others. Next the climb proper began. When it was Don's turn he took a little while over it, and had a fair amount of advice from Joe, and then it was my turn. I made such a mess of the step round the corner, I got my left knee jammed under some rock, and didn't dare take it out as it was holding me in balance – eventually I found suitable handholds and was able to swing round the corner, where I found my difficulties began.
The route went up a groove, which was horribly slimy and practically devoid of holds; it seemed incredible to me the way my socks gripped, and made me wonder why I hadn't used them before – at the beginning I did a most peculiar move, using a hold to the right and then was able to reach what I hoped was a handhold in the bed of the groove; this proved to be only a sideways press and, in its greasy condition, I didn't trust it very far. I was moving very slowly and was able to tell Don that I saw his point, that Cloggy could be tiring.
I thought that if I was tiring on the first pitch, how would I get up the rest, and I suggested, from the top of the groove, that I should abseil down, but the others said no. I took off the sling, which had kept the rope above me in the groove and began to think of the traverse down to the stance. Suddenly I felt very much alone – before I had felt that a sling lacked the personal touch that the rope has when coming straight from a climber, but once I had the sling off, I realised how invaluable it had been. However, once I started down I found it easy enough. I asked Joe where the difficulties were, and he said there were three and they were all to come, the first being on the next pitch. Then Joe set off down, did a horrid mantelshelf and disappeared round the corner. Next the rope was still for some time, until Joe had a runner organised, when he continued climbing. Don did the mantelshelf easily enough, but had some difficulty getting round the corner. I heard them say that the slings should be left for me, and then Don continued.
Eventually it was my turn – I descended to the mantelshelf, and then just stood looking at it for some time, it was a long time before I could force myself to attempt anything so strenuous. As always, once I had started it proved to be not impossible, and I was able to get a knee on – now my difficulties really began, for Don had the rope too tight, and it was pulling me off. Eventually I was standing up, and hesitating to step round the corner. I knew the step would be easy enough, but I had to recover from the mantelshelf before I could do it. I found two slings which I had to remove, the first one was on a little stone which Joe had lodged in a crack – I removed the sling and replaced the stone. The next sling was a little lower on the last hold. I changed feet because I was being slow and the foot on the hold was tiring. Joe suggested that, if I didn't soon move down, I'd be changing feet again, to rest the other one. I moved down to the next hold and was told to change feet on it. I did so and found the next foothold on which I also had to change feet. This was more difficult as there were no real handholds – both the others were surprised that I had almost been able to reach this foothold with my hand on the good handhold. After this there were no real hand or footholds; again I suggested jumping down onto the grass (I had suggested this ever since I had got round the corner). I was told 'no', so I tried lowering myself down the last foot or so, when my foot slipped on the nothing on which I had put it, and, as I had no handholds I landed on the grass, only to find that it wasn't horizontal and I should have been over the edge if the rope hadn't held me. Soon I was up to the stance, and Joe was continuing the traverse. When it came to my turn I had great difficulty in getting round the corner for, as on the mantelshelf the rope was pulling me off balance. I'd pull in some slack, but before I could make the move, Don would have pulled it back again. This continued for some time. Next there was a walk along grass ledges and then up to join the others. I hadn't taken much notice of the scenery I had passed, I soon realised that I had passed below the narrow slab, and Joe, always the model of caution, hadn't used the belay at the bottom, but the firmer one well up on the right. I sat down to watch Joe on what he considered the hardest move on the climb. The bottom of the crack proved to be a little annoying and then it was a case of moving up the turf. This was the first time I had a good view of Joe at work, and I was astonished at his caution.
He never had two hands on the turf, one was always on the rock, even if it could only find finger holds there. Finally he came to the difficulty, the traverse, and he spent some time securing himself before he attempted this. He inserted another of the little stones he carried into a crack, with a runner behind, and then hammered it well in with a piton, next he used the piton to clear out all the cracks which he might possibly need to use as finger holds, and then he was ready to begin.
He put his feet onto nothing on the slab, reluctantly (it appeared) he let go of the crack in which he had his right hand, and brought that hand over to pin his left, and then he was soon able to get his left foot onto the good hold well over (I thought of it as the good hold as I could see that there was something there). This brought him to the edge, and he was surprised that he had a little difficulty in getting up to the stance (apparently he hadn't noticed this the last time he did it). Don next joined him, and then Joe went up to the next stance, crossing the slab again on what he considered the third and last difficult move on the climb.
Then it was my turn, as I expected I found the move onto the turf most annoying, because it didn't look difficult. On the turf I tried to follow Joe's example and keep one hand on the rock. When I came to the traverse, it was some time before I could launch myself on it. I was surprised to find that there were positive holds both for the hands and the feet, the trouble with the foot holds was that Don had wiped his wet socks on them and, to someone like me, used to climbing in rubbers, they looked rather treacherous (the rest of this lower part of the slab was dry by this time). Joe then suggested that I ought to be sent down the big rope. I thought that this was very considerate of him, neither Don nor I at first realised the trouble he was taking to safeguard his party adequately. The rope was in a muddle so Don at first sent me down a loop of nylon as a handhold, but that didn't satisfy Joe – I said that it would be good enough to swing across on, after which I was threatened with his piton hammer. He explained that the idea of the second rope was so that, if I did come off, I shouldn't swing round onto unclimbable rock, but should be kept onto the climbable face. Eventually the ropes were to his satisfaction and I was making the traverse. I put my left foot onto the good hold (as it turned out to be) and then my right foot onto a more dubious one. I moved my right hand to the left handhold and then moved my left hand to what turned out to be a perfect flake hold for finger tips, and then was able to get my left foot onto the longer hold. I then felt up for the handhold which the others were so keen I should use, only to find that it was no better than my microscopic little flake, besides the fact that it was so far up that it was upsetting my balance. I rested a moment before getting my weight over onto my left foot and then started to move up the edge. I think the others thought I was slow on this, there were no positive footholds, but my socks gripped anywhere on the slab, and the handholds were huge. Next Don joined Joe, who had to move on. When it was my turn on the next pitch I enjoyed the slab move, at one moment I surprised myself by saying that I must rest, the position was only restful in as much as it was less tiring to stay in that position, than it had been to get into it. Both feet had only the general roughness of the wall, while both hands shared only the one flake handhold. I soon moved on up a dirty groove, where I found the balance awkward. There were no sociable stances since the slab, always Joe had to go on before I could move up. There were several pitches where he ran out 100 or so feet of rope – I had expected all this to be ridiculously easy, but apparently "scrambling" on Cloggy means quite difficult climbing. The first pitch (which is the last 'climbing' one according to the guide) we distinctly awkward. I got into great trouble at one point through using a knee. The time was getting on, and Joe had a 7 o'clock train to catch from Bangor, so I hadn't really a great deal of patience for these last pitches which consisted chiefly of moving up on turf. Eventually we could all move together, and were soon on the summit where there were two men talking to Joe. One of them appeared to know me, and his face was certainly very familiar to me. Eventually he said that the last time he had seen me was at the farm at the foot of Tryfan. Later Don was able to tell me that he was John Lawton.
I took my socks from the outside of my rubbers (they were very tattered on both sides by this time) and then told Don that he and Joe were to hurry down and I would take my time and carry Don's pack to the road where I would meet him. I left them talking and started down, but they overtook me in no time, as also did the two men. John Lawton watched me down the Western Terrace. I wasn't very fast, it was one of those places I hate, scree on top of slabs. I dare say the others thought it very funny that my companions should leave me like this. I didn't think to explain, but I think the tale came out in time, that Joe had missed the 5 o'clock bus, so Don was having to take him to Bangor. When I reached my boots, the others at first said they must hurry down, but by the time I was ready, John was still pointing out the climbs to his companion, so we went down together. John asked me how often I got out, and when I said that I hadn't been anywhere worthwhile since Whitsun he was very surprised to think that I had been on Narrow Slab, especially as it was my first climb on Cloggy West Buttress (he wasn't nearly as surprised as I was!), but he did say that, while Narrow Slab was a magnificent lead, it was quite easy to safeguard the rest of the party on it.
The others had gone by the time we reached the half-way house; I found that John was very well known there, and when Mrs. Williams asked what had been climbed, John told her that I had done a very difficult climb. Soon it was our turn to hurry down. John's bike wasn't far below the barn apparently, and his friend was wondering whether we could get three on it. I was spared that by explaining that I had to pack! I reached the barn just after Ronnie and his friend had left and I was disgusted to find that they hadn't attempted to clear their rubbish. All I had time to do was to dump it all in the rushes at the back, along with our own rubbish. There were several tins of food which I left on the windowsill. It was a shock when I felt Don's rucksack, it was twice as heavy as mine. I started out with one slung over each shoulder, but I couldn't manage them like that. I had to put Don's on my back and my own in front; the only trouble was that I couldn't see where I was putting my feet. I hurried down to the main road, much to the astonishment of everyone who saw me and then sat down to do my hair while waiting for Don. After about a quarter of an hour he appeared (at 7.20), saying that Joe had just caught the train, and we put on the packs and rode up to the Pen-y-pass, where we had a wash in the butt. From the Pen-y-Gwryd, Don started to get a move on and we were at Bettws, taking in petrol in no time and, at 8.15 or so, leaving for Llangollen. We had to overtake the cars we had passed on the way to Bettws, but then we got some fairly clear runs.
We had tea and cake at the milk bar and then continued along the A5. Don's dynamo wasn't charging, so we went as far as possible before it got dark, when Don stopped and was able to put it right – a brush was loose – I was very glad to stop and let some of the traffic go by for I had been infuriated by an open lorry which kept passing us; it was driven in such a reckless manner that I began to wonder whether it was stolen. At Derby we tried the ring road, but found it a long way round; we had another stop on this, while Don repaired (or rather, tore to pieces) his dipper switch and were in Nottingham by 12.30 or so.
I had some supper and a bath, got to bed, heard 2 o'clock strike and then heard Dorothy outside, calling to be let in. She had just got back from Windermere.
I caught the 7.10 to Crewe. I looked out at Derby to see if there were any other likely looking people, but if there had been I couldn't have seen them, the platform was so crowded. I was horrified too, at the number of people getting in all along the line; they had large suit cases and were obviously going on holiday, and I began to think the Welsh coast train would be very full. At Crewe, I hurried across to platform 1 and got a seat in the train which soon pulled out. At Chester I had time for two cups of tea, but had to drink the second one in the 11.45, where I easily got a seat. I made the effort and kept awake until Bangor at 1.30, where I found a darkened Ladies waiting room, and got down on the long seat and, after eating some sandwiches, prepared to sleep. There were one or two interruptions at first, by people outside, and then by two railway men who insisted on putting in a bulb, although they then switched off the light when I said I preferred the dark. I was awake at about 5.30 and then went into such a deep sleep, that I woke with a start at 6.30 and didn't get over it for hours.
I hastily packed and made my way to the bus station for 6.45, where I queued for the Llanberis bus. It hadn't come by 7 o'clock, so I asked a conductor whether it was running that morning and he assured me that it was; at 7.15, another conductor, as he passed told me that the first bus was at 7.55 (and that wasn't to Llanberis), so I consulted a third conductor who agreed that if the quarry wasn't working, the bus wouldn't be running, and he stopped a Caernarvon bus for me. At Caernarvon I had half an hour to wait, and eventually got to Llanberis at 8.45. I made my way up to the barn, but when I got in sight I thought it looked too quiet, and my worst fears were realised when I opened the top part of the door and looked in to find the place deserted.
I made myself some tea, having to use the sweetened milk left from last week and then cooked my ration of bacon, also left from last week. I had no bread, but had finished my sandwich while waiting for the bus at Bangor, and didn't really feel in need of more bread. I didn't leave in a hurry, thinking that perhaps the others were having bike trouble and would be along presently. Next I set off up to Mrs. Williams and told her my tale; she agreed that Don and Wilf had said they would be coming this weekend, and she got her glasses, and we watched the people along the path; they all turned out to be 'only visitors' as Mrs. Williams called anyone who was not a climber. The time passed very quickly, with Mrs. Williams showing me her daughters' embroidery etc., but at ten to twelve I really thought it time to be on my way and I set off for the summit, which I reached in an hour. On the top there were family parties taking photographs, and one boy tried to take me in hand, he asked me if I had been in the hotel, and then told me that the very best thing to buy was the panorama. I soon left him, and went in the hotel. I inspected the windows which had been so scratched by the snow, and then walked out without even a cup of tea. I had a last look round at the view (the best I had ever had, but not perfect) and then set off down, over the top of Cloggy, having lunch looking at the horrible East Face of the Pinnacle. I was soon continuing my way down to the col, and then up the huge unnamed peak and down to the col over which the path from Snowdon Ranger to Llanberis (direct) passes. The next hump in my ridge was Foel Gôch – this has a name, although it was much smaller than the previous one. There wasn't much of a drop before the next rise to Foel Gran. I had been tempted to halt here, but thought I might as well go on to the final peak, Moel Eilio, where I sat in the shelter (there was a cold wind) and had a little to eat and, to extend the rest, counted the contours, finding that if I descended to Llanberis, and then up again to the half way house, I should have made 6,000 ft of vertical height that day, besides doing 15 miles horizontally.
The sun was still shining over the sea, how I wanted to explore the whole coastline. I descended the Northeast Ridge towards Llanberis, calling in at one or two places for some milk, but they only directed me to the Y.H. where, naturally, there was nothing doing. In Llanberis I had a pot of tea, and was able to get about a cupful of milk. I approached the barn a little eagerly at first, I could see the top of the door which was across, and thought that no-one was there, and then I noticed that a barricade had been put across the lower part, and I fairly rushed up it to look in, to see whether more rucksacks had arrived, or whether mine had gone (a couple of tins left from the week before had disappeared, so I wondered whether anyone had their eye on the place). I found plenty of rucksacks surrounding mine, so I knew that all was well. I scrapped the potatoes left from the week before, and was about to put on the soup, when I changed my mind and decided to walk up to the half way house.
Mrs. Williams was able to tell me that Don and Nat had gone up about an hour before, and that Mary and Derrick had only left about ¼ hour before. I went out and saw two figures on top, and then waited for them to come down. Mrs. Williams had said that Don had apologised and said that he ought to have let me know that he wasn't coming out until the afternoon. It was a good job I had heard this, for he didn't bother to tell me. I suppose because he didn't mention it, I binded a little. I said as a joke, "How did you like Great Slab?" and he replied by asking how I knew they had done it. It was some time before I realised that they really had climbed it, in 1 hr 25 mins. When their 120 ft of rope was insufficient, they both moved together!
Back at the barn, Mary and I put on the supper while the others had a look at Derrick's bike, as the dynamo wasn't working. It was dark before they were back, so we didn't get to bed very early; we had soup, potatoes and meat, and then finished with a tinned pudding and tea.
I told Don the time at 6 o'clock, but he said 7 o'clock would be early enough to get up, so I got up and put on the tea; Nat was in and out of his bag and at one time he had a rare old fight with Don, the latter wouldn't get up, as was the case the week before, after he had had his tea, he settled down in his bag and awaited his breakfast, which he got in due course. At 7.50 I started up and was soon overtaken by Nat and Don. We had the usual tea at Mrs. Williams and then set out for Cloggy. The sun was still shining on it, so I tried a photo or so.
We made our way round to the top of the middle rocks, and then they invited me to lead them up Longlands. I did appreciate this, for I knew how keen Don was to do the Sheaf (Nat had done it) and I believe Nat had been up Longlands more than once. I'd have given anything at that moment not to have had to lead, but I knew that afterwards I should never forgive myself for not taking the opportunity, so I agreed to try, hoping that there'd be time for the Sheaf afterwards.
I put on rubbers, and then they suggested that I put on socks on top, as the bottom part was a little wet. I found that the majority of the holds were dry, and I was a little suspicious of my socks, as Don had told me that the day before they hadn't been able to get socks to grip on a dry slab. We didn't rope up until we got to the bollard and, in my apprehensive mood, I found the move to the stance a little exposed. Don tied on in the middle, and Nat was on the end, on my 100 ft of nylon. Soon I was thrutching up the chimney until Nat told me to traverse out. He was so full of instructions that I thought I had to traverse right out on the right – it would have been a serious move – so I was most relieved when I found that the traverse was only onto the slab on the left.
They had slung so many slings round me that I thought I might as well get rid of one onto a knob on the slab, but Nat seemed to think that was cheating, so I didn't bother. The slab was sheer delight, and I occasionally left a sling on suitable projections until I came to an obvious stance where I was allowed to bring up Don. The next move was a little more delicate, onto the slab, and so up 10 or 20 feet to a stance and belay on an inserted chockstone, where I halted again. This was the beginning of the serious part of the climb. I ascended a few feet until I came to the difficult step; this was quite dry, and I knew it was followed by "faith and friction" so, as I passed above Don, I got him to pull off my socks. He dropped one of the socks and, he said afterwards, it touched nothing on the way down, and landed near our boots. This drove home to him the exposure of the climb. I scarcely noticed it myself; I looked down often enough, but I suppose I had other things on my mind, for I don't think I really realised the unique position of the route. Eventually, I got a knee across to the difficult step, got my weight above it, and then was able to stand up, when I found myself confronted by "faith and friction". To me the obvious thing seemed to be to step round to the left, so I was a little worried when Don said that he had had to move up on the slab, for there were no hand holds on it; however, Nat called up from below that when Don Chapman had done it, he had made a lay-back move, so I did the same, using the lovely edge to the left, and foot-holds off the slab. When it was Don's turn, I could see why he moved up on the slab – he could reach the hold at the top. I moved up until I got a belay; it wasn't as good as I should have liked, for the stance was very slimy for rubbers.
The next pitch was a long one, there were easy moves, but really it held its interest right to the top, when a few feet of scrambling brought me to a large platform with innumerable belays; this was our first sociable stance, and, after Don was up, I took in Nat's rope, but he came up faster than I could take in the rope.
Now I was faced with the "crux", the last pitch. I had always intended to try the alternative, delicate finish, but when I saw the original route, it was too much of a challenge, especially as I was in a party of three, i.e. I could have one as a belay and the other for a shoulder. I didn't fancy a jump down, for the ledge ended too soon and the crevasse wasn't at all pleasant. I tried climbing up to the left, to step across to the first foothold, but soon gave that up and put my left foot high up onto the hold and then pulled to get my weight onto it. I saw where I had to move my right hand, but I didn't dare let go to move it, and I realised that I was stuck. I think I had something to say privately to the rock, hardly realising that I was talking aloud, certainly not realising that the others could hear what I was saying. When I mentioned "God", Nat said, in such a patient way, "Yes, never mind about him now, just move your right hand up to the next hold – instead I asked Don for a shoulder and, instead of lowering me down, he let me rest there and then carry on from that point. I got the next hold, but then had another rest, and so on up to the top hold, where the jug I was hoping for didn't materialise; my wrists were in such a weak state by now that nothing less than a jug would do, so I thought I had better retreat while I could still reach Don's shoulder, and I stepped down onto it, and we all had a rest. I felt I had had my innings, put up a very poor show, and had better give Don his turn, so I changed the rope in the sling and, when I had released his rope from a belay it had found itself in the crevasse, he was up like a shot, wondering why he had found it so difficult the week before.
Next it was my turn, I found that Don wasn't intending to literally pull me so I warned him that mine would be a do or die attempt, and went up 2 feet, only to retreat, much to Nat's disgust. Then I got my hands on higher holds and, moving quickly, I got up, and realised that the pitch wasn't difficult. I concluded that, if I could ever do it at a first attempt, I ought to be able to lead it, but that, on a second attempt, I ought to have a rope above.
Nat was up in a moment and was then looking at the slab to the left. He informed us that it was the direct finish, one of premoves efforts, so we asked him why he didn't lead us up it. It was no sooner said than done. while I took about three photos, he got up it very easily, although, in the third, he had a knee jammed in a crack and it looked as though he were using a knee in my favourite manner. Later he admitted that he had never heard of it being climbed before.
Lastly, it was my turn. I found the lower part delightful, with small but adequate holds, for the feet and a paper thin, but firm flake crack for the fingers; half way up the holds seemed to give out, and there was only the crack where Nat had wedged his knee, but I couldn't seem to get a knee round to this, and I found these few feet very delicate. I wasn't helped by a tightening of the rope, which was round a flake and pulling me out, but so precarious was my position that I didn't dare ask for more slack, in case Don took me too literally. My verdict was that it was thinner than anything on narrow slab, and a superb lead by Nat.
It was just 12 o'clock and we had a short halt on top. The view was superb; it was as clear as a winter's day and the others said we should have seen Ireland if there hadn't been clouds that way. Don thought that there'd be time for the Sheaf, but Nat said no, and we were soon wandering down the Eastern Terrace, and I was being shown the top of all the terrible cracks where Joe would like to pioneer routes.
We had a little to eat and then strolled down to Mrs. Williams for tea. I left the others drinking it, and left at 1.45, for Llanberis, collecting my pack from the barn, on the way. I was ¼ hour early for the bus, but it soon appeared and I sat down in it, as though I'd had a strenuous day. I was talking to the driver and conductor when a motorbike rolled up. It was Jack Hilton who had brought a girl, Jean, who had been staying in his caravan and was catching my train. He was able to tell me a little about his Swiss holiday, and to renew his invitation to me to stay in his caravan, before the bus drew out.
At Bangor, Jean and I left our packs, and then Jean took me to the Sportsman's Café where we were able to get a pot of tea. Back at the station I was able to do my hair before the train arrived.
Jean and I both seemed content to doze quite a bit of the way to Chester, where I got out, leaving Jean in the train to Manchester. I was soon at Crewe, where I drank tea before catching the 8.50 to Derby. I rather resented the last part of the journey to Nottingham, but I was in soon after 12 o'clock.
I arrived home, expecting to spend all the evening re-packing my rucksack to make it suitable for a walk in Derbyshire, when I found a wire awaiting me; it was from Don saying that he was going to Langdale after all. I had tea then picked up my pack as it was, and caught the 7.10 to Crewe. I had several cups of tea, until the 2.18 was due – I had just got thoroughly drowsy in an armchair in the Ladies waiting room, when I had to stir, and it was some time before I felt like sleep again.
I got into a Pullman type carriage, and, after Preston I monopolised two seats, and tried to sleep.
We arrived in Windermere at about 6 o'clock and, as in the days of old, I found that there was no bus to connect with the 6.55 from Ambleside to Langdale, also that there wasn't time to walk it. I decided to walk part way to pass the time and had reached Low Wood Hotel just as it was due, and rode the last two miles into Ambleside. I had been disappointed that I hadn't had the early morning sun on the lake, but everyone I spoke to in Ambleside assured me that it was only early morning mist, and that it would turn out a lovely day, as they had been having all that week. I had a cup of tea at the bus stop and then was directed to a place for breakfast. It was the Vale View Hotel, where everyone was all smiles, and I had to wait only about 5 minutes. After my cereal I had a lovely plate of bacon and egg, and finally plenty of toast and marmalade. I left some tea still in the teapot – I was to regret that later in the day – I had hoped to catch the early bus and have breakfast at the D.G., but it wasn't to be.
From the old D.G. I made my way to Wall End Barn, packed my necessities for the day in a little rucksack and left my big one in the barn, where the inhabitants showed me where the key would be kept (I hadn't realised that it was so well organised). Next I started up Pike of Blisco, going behind Kettle Crag, and then straight up.
I soon had my shirt off, I was so hot, despite the mist. On the top I sat down for a few minutes, but the mist didn't seem to be clearing, so I went on, hoping that on the next top I should have the view Wyn and I had had in September 1945 when we had seen the peaks coming out of a perfect sea of mist. I descended to the top of Browney Gill, and then left the track and branched off further to the left, making for Cold Pike. My compass was useful here to give me the direction of the Crinkles, otherwise I might have found my way down to the Red Tarn again. As I neared the top of the first Crinkle, the sun began to come out, but there was a higher crag ahead, and I decided to reach that before stopping for lunch, I was afraid that this would go on indefinitely, but eventually, after a little pleasant scrambling I came to the highest summit of Crinkle Crags and sat down to eat. The fruit tasted delicious, but the sandwiches were not such a good idea, I was so thirsty.
I determined to rest for an hour and, to help myself do it, I took off my boots. This didn't keep me still, for I found myself paddling around barefoot, trying to see the view in all directions. Really the view was a great disappointment; the mist didn't leave the Scafells and there was quite a lot about over Langdale.
At about 2 o'clock I was on my way again over the Shelter Crags and on the last lap to Bowfell. Here I met a little man who was descending; we had seen each other several times – on the road to Ambleside, and then on the bus, this time we actually spoke. He was from Manchester and was going back that night, so that he would be rested for going to work on Monday. He explained that he hadn't come straight up Bowfell, but had come via Angle Tarn and then he warned me about the mist on Bowfell, but he thought that if I stuck to the track, I should be alright. I thought that it might relieve his mind if I told him that I wasn't quite incapable, so I mentioned that I had successfully used my compass from Cold Pike to the Crinkles. At the mention of the Crinkles the poor man looked most impressed, and told me that there was a very difficult part on one of them, in fact it was better to go round the side, but he seemed to realise that I hadn't been round the side, and he soon hurried down, away from me.
I didn't wait long on the top, and soon started down the ordinary way, for I had only one thought, which was "tea". I wouldn't have believed that the Band was so far to descend, and I nearly called in at Stool End, but I managed to stagger as far as the D.G. where I asked for a pot of tea. Originally I had intended to have a Cumberland tea (or is it a Westmoreland one in Langdale), but I knew I was too thirsty to appreciate it. I had my tea in the new bar, where the farm used to be.
I made my way to the barn and got out my water bottle, and returned to Middlefell Farm to have it filled with milk. I left it in the stream and ascended a little way up the Blea Tarn road and sat down to watch for the arrival of a motorbike. At about 5.45 a bike drew up; I was too far away to recognise the people who had got off, but I noticed that the bike drew straight up to the barn, instead of pulling into the field as all the others had done, so I thought it worth descending. I joined Nat and Don by the roadside, and Don distributed French railway tickets, and Nat distributed pound notes. Next we discussed our plans; I told them that I had had a lazy day so that I should be reasonably fresh should they insist on going to Scafell at 2 a.m. Don said that he'd be delighted to go to Scafell, but if he did it would be that night with full pack. I disagreed with this and in the end we decided to camp at the foot of White Gill. Don ran me along and then went back for Nat and we found a campsite on the right-hand side of the road, on land belonging to Millbeck Farm, where we pitched the tent, and cooked supper.
For some unknown reason the others were ready first, and how impatient they were, it made me realise that I had never kept them waiting before. We all three got on the bike and rode to the old D.G. where we drank cider and, at about 10 o'clock we left. At my suggestion Don turned into the new D.G., but here their courage failed them, for they wouldn't come in. For the last stage of the journey I was on the back of the bike instead of in the middle. I didn't feel at all safe.
We started sleeping out, but at 1 a.m. it began thundering and lightning, so we moved into the tent. I didn't have a particularly good night. I seemed to spend the whole time getting in or out of my bag, I was too cold out and too hot in. The midges were active, as another annoyance.
At 5 o'clock the rain started, it was very heavy, but the tent didn't leak, so I was soon asleep until about 8 o'clock when, although it was an overcast day, we decided we had better stir, and Don started the breakfast.
At about 8.40 I started up for White Gill, thinking that I should get a start on the others but, soon after Millbeck, I realised that I hadn't my rubbers, and had to return to the camp. At the farm I fortunately saw the farmer, for he had collected my rucksack from the field where I had left it. The storm had done no good, it was just as close a day as it had been on Saturday (and, incidentally, on the last one I had been up to White Gill). I found it rather a slog, but after passing "Do not" and such horrors we found ourselves at the foot of the Gordian Knot. I had my camera with me; how I longed for some sun to photograph the climb. Don put on socks over his rubbers and started up the first pitch (60 ft), but eventually retreated, saying that he didn't like it in its slimy condition. Nat then tried it, and was soon up – I didn't watch them as I was busy trying to put our boots and odds and ends under shelter for the weather looked very threatening.
Next it was my turn to try the 65 ft first pitch. Watching the others I had thought it much too difficult a pitch on which to start the day, but when I got on it I think I almost enjoyed it. It was very steep (when I told the others this, they said that the Three Cliffs were twice as steep!) and the holds were small, but just adequate. As I got higher Nat alternately told me to hurry, and, to watch the storm approaching. I took the former advice and reached the stance at the same time as the rain arrived.
At first it seemed a wonderful, natural shelter, but after two hours, I hadn't much good to say for it, especially as the drips were beginning to run down the overhang and limit the dry spot considerably. Our only amusement was to watch two youths going up and down the Gill, soaked to the skin. The rain appeared very much worse to us as we were looking at the world through the cascade pouring off our overhang. At about 1 o'clock we realised that the second pitch would be impossible with the waterfall coming down it, so we rearranged the rope and abseiled off. After a little to eat I had to descend to catch my bus, while the others were going to do another climb.
Back in camp I found that the stream had risen considerably and had carried away my water bottle with the rest of the milk. I had to strike my tent as I didn't want it carried outside the packs on the bike, and then set off down the old road to Chapel Stile. I had 40 minutes to wait for the bus, and another climber got into conversation with me. He had done Junction Arête and told me the youths' opinions of us. They had said that we had had a lot of trouble with the first pitch which was easy, so they didn't know how we'd have managed on the second pitch which was 'vs'. I hastened to explain that the first pitch was a good 'severe' and was glad when Don Wilman arrived to give me someone else to talk to. He and Joan had been sleeping out, but had had to retreat to Wall End barn when the rain came – he took a dim view of rising so early on a Sunday!
After a cup of tea in Ambleside, I caught the Windermere bus, and, as I had a good half hour to spare, I went in the little café for an afternoon tea. I had nearly finished when I saw Don and Nat outside, they had the same idea. I asked them what they had done, and I thought Don said Route 2, but later it turned out to be White Gill Wall. I was so glad and only wished I could tell the boy at Chapel stile.
The t.05 took me to Carnforth, where I got out, only to run into Val Stevens, with whom I travelled to Leeds. I learned that after a fortnight in the Dolomites she was to have a fortnight in Chamonix, and she got me to write down a list of easy climbs – I couldn't really believe she wanted easy ones! There was a connection fairly soon for Derby, where I arrived at 12.15, the snag was the hour's wait for the Nottingham train; however, I was indoors soon after 2 and in bed for 3 o'clock.
Frank took me to London Road Station, and I caught a train straight through to Newhaven Harbour. At first I thought there was a queue waiting for the customs, but I later concluded that they must have been sitting on the platform because they liked it, for I walked straight past them. On my way out I found an innovation, for I had to show my travelling ticket.
I was directed to a boat. I asked whether it was the second one, and I was assured that the first had already left; I boarded the s.s. "Brighton".
It was amusing watching the other people come on board. The first obvious division was into climbers and non-climbers and, just as marked was the division of climbers into nail and vibrams addicts. There were very few of the latter.
Eventually the Valkyries appeared; I asked them why they had to be the last and they assured me that they were some of the first off their train – I suppose the point was that I didn't watch the people who came after. The only other familiar face was that of Marjorie Steel, but Arthur Dolphin was also pointed out to me, on his way to Zermatt.
We found our reservations on the Paris train; Don hadn't one, but someone else in the carriage found another place, which gave Don a seat. The others had all been travelling the night before and they were a little difficult to wake when the officials came round.
At the Gare St. Lazare, we couldn't find an inter-station bus, so we took a taxi. I agreed to 500 fr beforehand, so I was rather annoyed when the meter registered only about 250 fr; however, we each seemed to have a couple of rucksacks, so I don't think we did too badly.
We left our gear at the Gare du Lyon and did a little shopping for the journey and had a meal, before settling down in the 9.15 to St. Gervais. We found that our five seats were the only reservations in our carriage, so we sat in the unreserved seats and then during the night we were able to spread out quite nicely. Don went on the floor, leaving the rest of us two aside.
The train was late in, and we caught a later connection to Chamonix, arriving at about 10.30. The Biolay was much the same as usual – we didn't notice the improvements the C.A.F. had mentioned!
I went straight away to the butchers, to get 5 bifsteaks and 5 "tranches de fois", before they closed.
There were one or two Englishmen at the Biolay, including Mac, who had taken Jo and Eileen on the Charmoz-Grépon the year before.
I soon began to see what a trial I was going to have with my party with the cooking – they were on holiday, time was of no account, and they certainly didn't intend to help with the chores. Then they were all so faddy, one didn't like beans, another tomatoes, and so it went on.
I cooked a meal for 1 o'clock, bifsteak, potatoes and beans, and when I asked for their plates they told me not to bother, and they picked up their meat and ate it between bread. I later learned that they had bought no cooking pans.
The afternoon went very quickly, and later on Hamish and John arrived back from the Grépon East Face (their first climb, and they seemed a little tired!). I asked Hamish if he had any news of Jo, but he said no. I rather expected that she'd have left word when she was arriving. The Biolay was rather crowded, so we slept out as it was a perfect night. We were under the illusion that we had brought the good weather with us.
The morning was a dreadful rush; how I regretted the time we'd wasted on the Sunday; the men wanted their hair cut, we had to join or rejoin the C.A.F., get more supplies of food and organise the luggage.
I had wanted to catch the 1.15 train to Montenvers, but we succeeded in catching the 2 o'clock.
All along I had planned to go to the Plan de l'Aiguille for the Carmichael on the Pélerin and Don had agreed to this, yet when the time came, Don said that we were going to the Tour Rouge hut for the Aiguille du Roc. I begged him not to; I said that when I did the Roc I wanted to do the Grépon from it, so he said that that was what we were going to do. I knew that it was crazy to try this on the first day as it meant climbing with heavy packs. I told him that I had told Jo we'd be going there later in the week; I said that we were too late to go to the Tour Rouge hut that night, but all to no avail. As it turned out I wish I had stayed behind and refused to go with them, for I'm sure that that climb put off the party for the rest of the holiday.
We had nothing to eat at mid-day and I was starving, so I broke lumps of bread off the loaves, whenever I could catch one up. We were more or less together up the Mer de Glace, but I got left behind up the loose boulders before we got to the zigzag track. I was a little behind on this, but they stopped by the stream and, seeing me actually drinking water, they all had another drink.
We found the cairn and were soon on the snow, which was in splendid condition. This year the snow was very much higher and the rock pitch we climbed at the bergschrund the year before was half covered. This year there was a snow bridge (except for a long step) and, after roping up, we were soon across and up the upper snow to the beginning of the rock. I hesitated at the change from snow to rock, but once I got used to the change in the surface I didn't find it at all difficult. Don avoided some of the difficulties André had chosen for us the year before, and in no time he was at the foot of the lay-back crack. We elected to send up the packs, and after Don had hauled them up, it was my turn to climb.
I astonished myself by the ease with which I climbed the crack (ahem!). I used the piton at the bottom, and then lay-backed facing left and then at the top just to vary it I faced right (there was such a lovely flake for the hands). Don and I were so little impressed by this grade IV that when the others asked whether they should do it with packs we said yes. After this, we seemed up to the hut in no time. I was the last to reach it for I wanted to try to photograph it, showing its position.
Don and Wilf went for the water, taking the guide book to look out the route. We had one terrible set back, Wilf had promised to bring the tea, but when I asked for it he said that he had given it to Nat, and Nat said that he had put it in the rucksack to be left at Montenvers. We had found a little water in the hut, and used this to heat the first lot of soup for Nat, Young Don (who we had to wake up) and me. We soon had another lot ready for Don and Wilf, but Wilf didn't eat his, he was sick. For a night cap we had hot chocolate made with a bar of Aero which Nat sacrificed. We set the alarm for 3 o'clock and went to bed about 9, but, as always in the first hut, it wasn't to sleep.
We ate bread and butter and jam, and drank hot milk, and then waited for the light. At about 4.20, we set out. The first chimney, in the half light seemed more difficult than I remembered it, and I was very surprised at having to crawl through the cave. Soon the way became easier, and the light better; we passed the water, and traversed over to the left, and followed some tracks across some snow. After mounting obliquely up to the right, we came to a second gully, which we were to follow to the brêche. As the book said, at first we kept to the (true) left and then in the bottom of the couloir – I remember one little pitch in this, where I hesitated before launching myself on it. In other places we kicked up the snow. Finally, we took to the rocks on the (true) right. They were easy enough, but practically belayless, so, when Don did find a belay he used it, in other words we moved one at a time.
The other three moved together, and usually had to wait for us. Eventually we reached the Brêche on the E.A.E. arête and found that we had taken the guide book time of 3 hours.
I had been rather disgusted to find that I was expected to carry my spare rope (I thought that sort of thing only happened with guided parties) and tried to lighten my pack. I did this by emptying my water bottle, much to the disgust of the others.
Next the climbing really began, we followed the ledge to the left, but then wasted some time wondering what a craquelure was; eventually Don started up the crack some metres before the end of the ledge (as the book said) and brought me up before attacking the next problem (a IV up). Without a pack Don made nothing of this. When it came to my turn it seemed impossible. I couldn't reach the hold at the top, and lower down there were only sideways pulls, with nothing really for the feet, and I was at a loss until Wilf arrived and put a sling on the piton. I complained that the sling was too long, so Wilf doubled it, and it made an ideal foothold and, trusting everything on that piton, I was soon up. This part of the ascent was greatly complicated by the hauling up of the leaders' packs, partly because hauling is so strenuous, and partly because the stances weren't big enough to accommodate them. At the time I thought that leaders ought to be able to do IVs with their packs (I was still annoyed with the choice of the climb, and also with the amount of stuff the others carried). Little did I know that at the end of the holiday when I expected to be on form, I should be unable to follow up IVs without a pack! Then we came to the 20m ledge which we were to leave in the middle by a dièdre with 2 overhangs. Don was disgusted with the line I indicated (although he said there were 2 pegs in it) and traversed to the end of the ledge, but I told him he'd gone to far, eventually by coming back to the half way point, and traversing up to the right, he was able to get to the correct dièdre, from the top of which we traversed to the right. The second rope were able to take a better line for this traverse. Next we ascended the couloir. I had a bad moment in this when Don got stuck, I told him to come down and leave his pack; he said he couldn't get down; I had no belay, and I didn't like to worry him by asking if he had on a runner (actually he had). Eventually, he got down and found a better route, which brought him to the traverse just to the left of the Southeast Arête which he followed to the foot of the final chimney. Wilf had the guide-book; this idea wasn't altogether a success, for Don couldn't always get information when he needed it, and when he could it wasn't always correct. He went half way up the chimney and then traversed to the left, only to be horrified by the sheet rock all around – he rapidly traversed back and finished up the chimney which had seemed impossible at first sight. Next he told me to leave my pack and come on. I was glad to use the piton to get into the chimney, but once in I thoroughly enjoyed myself; I was slow for I didn't intend to exhaust myself completely, but it was just my type of a pitch. The upper part gave me a shock at first, until I realised that I was too far in. By facing left, I could have my back against a wall, while my feet could move up the edge. Like this I thoroughly enjoyed it, and even the pull over the block at the top turned out to be possible. This took us to the slab pitch, 5sup, if done without a "lancer la corde". At first all I noticed was a mushroom on the same level as the stance, but soon I realised that a smaller one higher up was the one to be lassoed, and Don was soon flicking the rope in its direction. Very soon, he had two thicknesses of rope on top of it and then very very gently, he took one of them and flicked it over, and the mushroom was lassoed. He held the two ropes in his hand on the top. I saw young Don, leading the second rope, onto my stance, and then I took off; Don gave me a tight rope and an extra rope as a handhold and I enjoyed my airy excursion to the crack which proved a way up to the next stance. I couldn't help but compare this slab with Narrow Slab on Cloggy; in comparison the latter had jugs all over it, for there was nothing in the way of a positive hold on this granite.
I sat right on top to get out of the way, and the abseil ropes were arranged, and I was the first victim for the 90 ft rappell. I had always dreaded the thought of this, but once on it, it wasn't so bad. At first it was down a wall to the stance, which Nat had just reached, and only the last part was free. I let myself go quickly to minimise the friction, the result was that my lifeline stopped me half way, and I began to twist; however, I was soon down onto the snow, and walking down to the rock. Don was the next down and then Wilf and then there was a pause. Although Don had been on the top by about 12 o'clock, a lot of time had been lost in hauling up the packs and it was now about 1 o'clock and Don began working out the number of hours of daylight left and he realised that if we were as slow on the Grépon as we had been on the last part of the Roc, we should reach the top at about dusk.
Wilf all along had been telling us of a way of getting off, avoiding the difficulties of the Grépon, but when we questioned him about it we found that it was after the 40 m chimney, i.e. after the difficulties, so at last Don agreed that our best plan would be to return the way we had come (I had been suggesting leaving our packs all the way up).
We told Wilf he'd got to go up again (he was still on the top of the snow where he had landed from the rappel) and he was so horrified that I suggested that Don should be the first to climb the rappel rope – he tied on to Wilf's lifeline and, telling young Don and Nat to haul, he started climbing the two rappel ropes. All the ropes were ¾ weight nylon; Don made quite rapid progress for the first 10 feet and then slowed down. There was a crack further in and he started trying to swing himself into this, but he couldn't quite manage it. Next he started to twist and had to twist back again, at one stage of the proceedings he hurt his back, I forget how. After an agonising time by both onlookers and participants, Don was in the crack, which Wilf was inspecting from below. Next Wilf was climbing into the crack, without any trouble at all, and telling me to do the same.
I tied the packs onto the abseil ropes and they were hauled up to the top again, and then I was climbing the crack, and walking through the rock at a level before the final part of the chimney. Next I was enjoying myself sliding down the chimney, only needing to take care on the delicate part at the bottom.
The rucksacks were lowered down to the ledge, while Wilf and Don climbed down, and then the abseil rope was organised and it was long enough to take us to the top of the little couloir, when another rappel could be fixed.
The other rope, obviously hadn't Don's and my experience (ahem!) in fixing rappels, and hadn't the knack of passing the rope forward to hand to the party in front, so it happened on this upper part that we sometimes had to wait before we could have the rope we were to fix (on the Requin and the Dru it always seemed that we, the collectors of ropes, had to wait for the fixers of ropes).
It was incredible the way the rope always seemed to just reach to the stance, sometimes it only seemed the stretch in the nylon which enabled this to be. Finally, we reached the ledge leading to the brêche, the second rope choosing a different line from Don and me. We abseiled the first part of the way down the couloir; I believe this was the 9th rappel of the day, and I noticed a blister developing on my right hand. Finally, we rappelled down the pitch in the bed of the gully and this broke my blister, so I resolved to recommend no more rappels.
The spare rope was used up by this time. In fact, for the last rappel, Don had had to leave a sling behind. I was most thankful to think that he was free of at least one of his old slings. After that we seemed to get ahead. I was surprised how far down it was to the col of the Tour Rouge. I was surprised how well Don remembered the way (I was following the vibrams traces we had left in the morning), but as he said, he'd had to find the way up, and therefore he'd had to be observant. Finally we crossed the col and got down to the snow and I started across. I was very slow for our morning's steps weren't much use, and I found it difficult to kick new ones. We were across after two or three runs out of the rope, with the other party following, Don and I were just disappearing over the rocks when we heard a noise and turned round. Young Don was last off his rope, and he slipped, but Nat's belay was adequate. Apparently Don was alright on the snow, but right at the bottom he landed on some rock which bruised him in an awkward place.
I missed the through route (I had never been down this way before), but Don soon called me back. As soon as we were in the cave we stopped for there was a very heavy rainstorm. The trouble was the water soon started dripping down and we soon realised that we'd better go on to the hut. We'd have done much better to have gone straight down, for by this time there was a river flowing down the chimney and I was soaked at once. Fortunately, I was out of the chimney before the crash came; apparently the whole of the floor of the cave came down.
Don went on in the hut to belay me up that last lay-back crack; I always hated it, both up and down, and this time I turned away to try the rock to its right. I found this impossible, but fortunately by this time, the other rope had offered me a shoulder for this pitch and I was soon in the hut removing my wet clothes and dressing myself in my duvet and a blanket. Young Don was the last in and the only one with his wet clothes still on, so I persuaded him to go down to the foot of the chimney and collect some water while it was still flowing.
It was a meagre supper that night, but we still had some chocolate with which we could make some cocoa (it was nut chocolate, but I thought the nuts only added to the interest of the drink). Otherwise the rations consisted of cheese and hardboiled eggs and bread and butter. We put some fruit soaking for the morning.
I think Don wanted to go on down, but I felt the party had done quite enough for a first day, and the others, like me, were reluctant to put on their wet clothes (after the one heavy shower it cleared up).
I got hardly any sleep this second night, I don't know why.
It was quite a nice morning; we ate our fruit (sultanas, prunes, apples and orange ) packed up and started down, roping down the grade IV crack. On the snow I was again in front and felt that I must be trying everyone's patience to the utmost, the slow way I kicked my way down. Don helped me by reminding me that the correct way to hold an axe was across my body, and I went down until I got to the last steep slope leading to the Bergschrund. I kicked a few steps down this, facing in, and then returned, suggesting that we could save a lot of time if Don kicked the steps and the other rope (who were right behind) gave me a top rope for this part. Don was very soon down, and I was down as far as the Bergschrund, but then it was some time before I could get myself to fall across the gap, in my usual manner. I next untied from the other rope, and Don and I descended the lower glacier, mostly by standing glissades.
We waited for the other party on the rocks and then ran down the path at our varying paces; Young Don, in his bruised state, was company for me, also Wilf.
We arrived in Chamonix, say at 2.30, which was too late for a meal (the others fancied a "plat de jour" at the place which always offered bifsteak and chips. We bought our own provisions and cooked a meal, but this nowhere near satisfied me, so I persuaded Don and Nat to come with me for a bifsteak! – I found this a little filling!
Between the two meals, Jo arrived! I felt a little silly as I had suggested to her that we might be trying the Roc on Thursday, and now we had done that and were thinking of trying the Pelerin, which she had done two years ago. Of course, she said she wouldn't mind doing it again, as André had rather hurried her up it, the first climb she ever did with him, and it was agreed we should go to the Plan de l'Aiguille the next day. Don wanted to go up that evening, but time was against him; I was sorry for this day was showery and I thought everything was set for a good day on the Thursday.
How glad I was that Jo had arrived, both for company, and for her organising ability.
It was a brilliant morning; how I regretted that we weren't climbing, but there was much to do. I helped Jo to carry the shopping; she took her little list into the 'Etoile des Alpes' and spent about £7. Next we went back to prepare a meal and then divided the food into that to be taken to Plan de l'Aiguille and that for Montenvers.
We caught the 2 o'clock train and Jo renewed her acquaintance with the Maitre d'Hotel and left the rucksack with him, and then we set out along the familiar path. The two Dons and Nat got ahead, and Wilf was behind. We stopped at the last stream to fill our water bottles, remembering that there was no water at the hut, and then went on.
What a shock it was to walk in and find that all had changed, that the people who used to be at the Grand Moulet had taken over. For two years I had looked forward to meeting again those friendly people who had been so good to us in 1949, letting us cook 'en bas' and giving us hot water in place of cold etc., but it wasn't to be. They also said that they had no room; we gathered that they mostly provided meals for the workmen at the Teleferique who slept in the dormitory which had been built a little higher. I hoped we might be able to get into this building, but Jo strode right past.
Next we came to skull and crossbones notices "Mines", which blocked all the paths in the Hotel des Glaciers direction. By this time I almost began to feel like a Rip Van Winkle, so much had changed. Jo traversed round below the notice, but soon rejoined the track, telling me that in case of accidents, her mother's address was the International Sportmen's Club, Upper Grosvenor Street.
Soon we seemed to be clear of the workings and were making our way up the moraine, but we crossed over to the right too soon. By this time, Don and Nat were in front, and young Don behind, shouting across that he couldn't see Wilf. Don went back and Nat shouldered two packs and the three of us made our way to the hotel, where the woman rather ungraciously consented to let us stay and even more ungraciously allowed us to cook indoors. Fortunately, we had our water bottles at first, for we were a little afraid to ask for water. We made tea and then soup – I remember that this time was the first time I had tasted Knorr mushroom soup – it was delicious; some of the others had to have Maggi Etoile – they didn't seem to think much of it.
Cloud was coming over from the west and south – I shall never hear the last of it! The others thought that since we were up we might as well move off before the rain came, so we took the track to Montenvers, stopping at the last hut. Here we found Val Stevens still in bed. We had previously met her in Chamonix and tried to give her and Bryan some advice about the district. Mike Dwyer and Leon were with her. We spent the morning in the hut, cooking. We fetched the sack from Montenvers and did the potatoes and Jo ran down to Chamonix for more stores.
Finally we packed, left the spare rucksack at the hotel again and set off for the Requin hut with two days food. The morning had been sunny and shower, but later it looked more threatening and it seemed a good idea to hurry up to the hut, and the boys set off at a good pace, while Jo and I went at a pace suited to our loads which seemed very heavy. We were rather surprised when the others pressed us, for we hadn't realised that we had got ahead. Partly so that our load should be slightly lightened (the others were going at such a pace that obviously their loads didn't weigh on them as ours did on us) and partly so that they could start the supper, I suggested that they could take the stove so that the tea would be on when we arrived. Their pace didn't slacken in the least. Jo, disgusted with my lack of independence (I suppose) said that she couldn't go any faster, but she was damned if she was going to stop. The final remark thrown at us was that they wouldn't put on the tea, they'd order us some beer. I don't know why that remark should rankle so, but it did, with both of us, all the way up, and Jo and I began to plan to climb on our own. As Jo said, when she and Eileen had been on their own the year before, they had carried very little. In the hut Jo began to tell the others what she thought of them. I started to join in, but realised that I hadn't Jo's store of good temper, so I went outside for a walk up the moraine and a look at the Mayer-Dibone. I could see that there was a fair amount of snow in the first chimney and I wondered whether it would be possible to avoid any of the difficulties by going up the snow.
The weather was deteriorating rapidly, but the wind and rain rather suited my mood until, in about half an hour, I thought it time I returned. To my astonishment, I found Jo, all on her own, in the middle of cooking supper, with the others sitting right away from her and only young Don offering to help in the least. I did a little to help, but when it was a case of asking them for anything, I told Jo I wasn't on speaking terms with them.
We weren't called for the weather was bad early, only the Collectif were called for the Col de Géant – all things considered I suppose the day passed pretty quickly. Joe and I went back to bed in the morning and read the Argentier Guide and discussed leaving the others and going up to the Albert Premiere hut, but on our own.
We went to bed that night in the front room (Friday night we had been in the window-less anti-room) and were amused at first by John Hammond. He seemed rather proud of his own prowess on the Three Cliffs, but from the chuckles around me, realised that the others would have a tale to tell me in the morning.
We weren't called, it was pouring early, but from about 7 o[clock on it started to clear and was a lovely day. I suggested that it was still not too late to climb, that we could do the Capucin du Requin, or something like that, but the others wouldn't hear of it and said we must return to Chamonix and wait three days for the snow to clear, which we did, arriving about noon. Jo made her way to Praz to meet Mlle. Engel, while the four of us, with Mac, who we collected at the Biolay, walked out to Pelerins to the Cremerie Mt. Blanc.
We were warned that we should have to wait an hour, and we couldn't even get served with wine before this time. Eventually the meal was served, Melon, Hors d'oeuvres (which the others didn't really seem to appreciate) and then 'bifsteak' with sauté potatoes and peas and beans, the peas being augmented by the shucks, which again the others didn't appreciate. We finished with fruit. I thought it a good meal, but some of the others thought they'd have preferred a "plat de jour". The price was 300 fr. this year.
We met Jo again at the Biolay and all caught the last train to Montenvers, where we were installed in the dortoire. We had been saying all along that we'd try the Blaitière, but late that night Joe was talking to a guide who warned her that the Rocher de la Corde was plastered with snow at the moment, so Jo enquired about the Carmichael on Pelerin. The guide said that there might be a little verglas under the overhang, but it should be pretty clear of the new snow, so Jo decided on that. When I suggested to her that the Spencer Couloir might go, she wouldn't hear of it. She said that she had just got her scholarship to America and she didn't want anything to happen to her before she could take it up. I was to remember her words on our last climb.
I didn't get to sleep as early as I should have like, a family party shared our room and they obviously were not getting up in the middle of the night.
The alarm went at 2.30; I'm afraid I took rather a delight in getting up and putting on the noisy little stove. We set out about an hour later and the boys were well away. I had my lantern, and Jo, with no light followed me. In the very early stages we retraced our steps for we had forgotten that the path went downhill a little way; our next delay was when we came upon a man lying on the path and groaning. His companion asked us if we had any rum, Jo was only able to offer him a codeine tablet. At first I though the party was left over from the night before, but it turned out that they had started from Montenvers and the man had fallen on his axe and hurt himself.
Eventually, just as it was getting light the lantern went out and Jo went ahead, and I realised that she must have been very impatient with the pace I had been setting.
At the place where the path forked to avoid the Plan de l'Aiguille, the others waited, this was more than we expected and it pleased us a lot and from then on this became a happy climbing day, so different from the last few quarrelsome days. We soon seemed up the moraine and at the foot of the snow leading to the Peigne-Pelerin couloir and here I had a shock, for I found that I was the only one without crampons. While the others were putting theirs on I started up, for I knew I should be slow when it got steeper. This was a mistake, for it meant that we didn't rope up until the top of the snow.
Once they started, the others soon overtook me and it was Nat who astonished me by cutting me steps – it only needed one blow of his axe and it hardly delayed him, but all too soon he stopped and followed the others up to the rocks. By this time I couldn't kick myself adequate steps as it was steeper and harder than lower down, nor was I firm enough on my feet to cut traversing steps as Nat had done. All I could do was stand still and cut about half a dozen steps in front of me, straight up, and walk up them before starting again.
This slowed me up considerably, so I was most grateful when Nat sent me down a rope. At first I was still slow until I thought to stick the pick of my axe in and mount up on that. No-one said a word at the time, it was only afterwards it was rubbed in how patient they had been with me, yet if I did that climb again, I still wouldn't think it worth while to carry crampons for that little bit of snow, considering the hours of strenuous rock climbing which are to follow. It took me ½ hour to get up, and with an experienced step cutter it would have taken less time, as it was, the first rope weren't ready to move off by the time I had arrived. Afterwards Nat explained that he had stopped cutting steps as he had cut through his trouser leg each time he used his axe.
The guide we had spoken to the night before overtook us at the bottom of the rocks. He was for the Chamonix Face of the Peigne, and he threatened to run up the Carmichael as an afterthought on his way down.
I was quite pleased to be on the second rope; I hoped I might be able to get a few photos of the first rope on the rock, despite the fact that the route faced north. The way up the couloir seemed very much easier than it had done 2 years earlier, when it had been my first climb in vibrams; I had been rather judging things by nail standards that day, especially as our second rope that day hadn't had vibrams. The rope down into the gully had practically disintegrated, but by the time I arrived, Don and Jo had nearly fixed the spare rope and this took us down the rock and across the snow, and then I did up the rope and put it in my rucksack (I had deliberately not brought the rope so that I shouldn't have to carry it, but then Jo had picked it up at the last minute and it gave me a very guilty conscience, when I thought of her carrying it, so I was quite glad to have it back in my pack). A little higher, we found that the guided party had stopped to eat, so we did likewise, and then set off for the col. I remembered from seeing the Frenchman, that, if one reached the col too far to the north, it was impossible to traverse to the Pelerins, so, when we were fairly high up and I looked back and saw a way further to the right, I suggested it was the route. Jo at first said no, and Don said there was orange peel on their route, but soon they changed their minds and told us to go down. I was disappointed to find that I was to be on the first rope after all. After the remark about orange peel we were very pleased to find sardine tins on our route!
It wasn't until we reached the top that I learned the drama of Jo's descent, a block had come away and she had gone down about 6 ft, needless to say it was her weak left ankle which she jammed in a crack. She also took the skin off the tips of several fingers, but she made very light of that. I don't know how she managed the climb; according to her, every move practically consisted of inserting her bad ankle into a crack and twisting it.
The last part of the couloir was a little interesting, I thought. I should have liked to have moved one, or at the most, two at a time, but Nat, who was following me pretty closely, wouldn't hear of it (young Don was too far up to hear).
Eventually we were at the foot of the Pelerin and were confronted with a fierce looking overhanging pitch, marked in the book "2 pitons". Don left his pack, asked for Nat to second him and set off up. He got up easily enough, putting his rope through the pegs (via karabiners) on his way. I'm always against the hauling of rucksacks, it takes so long, and is such hard work, so I suggested that as I was in the middle I ought to climb up with it. I started up, but soon realised my mistake, it was a strenuous pitch and my hands wouldn't hold both me and the two rucksacks, so I retreated to below the overhang and sent Don's rucksack down to that. Like this I was able to climb the pitch, although my hands had been a little weakened by the first attempt. Once up I set to work to get out the spare rope to send down for the pack, but soon put it away when I realised that Nat was climbing with it. Even he found the pitch very hard work under those conditions and I offered to take some of the weight. He only let me have Don's spare rope, and thus I finally found myself with 270 ft of spare rope on a route which I didn't think required a spare rope at all!
There were quite a number more grade IV pitches, but they weren't nearly as formidable as the first one, in fact, many didn't seem above III to me. As the guide had foretold, there was a little verglas beneath the overhang, but it didn't interfere (there had also been a patch in the couloir – Nat had insisted in giving me a shoulder to save time). There was a crack which avoided the overhang and then the horizontal rateau de chevre. There was a piton above this and, had I put my rope to Nat through this, I could have foot traversed it. I didn't holler and got along jamming my right leg and found it a little energetic. When Don saw the piton he immediately knocked it out and added it to his collection. Jo hand traversed the rateau – it looked very near.
Next, Young Don and Nat often moved together for the cracks, although sometimes IVs were easy, and very soon we were on the large snow patch kicking steps up to the Arête. The Arête was a delight; at times I thought it was going to be difficult, but always it turned out to be climbable, often the way was over the Northwest Face and exposure was of the maximum, and a sheer delight with the good holds on the glorious yellow granite.
Finally we were at the final slab, and Young Don asked whether we were taking the easy way, I said that he might as well look at the grade V pitch, which was the proper finish to our route, so he put on a thread belay and started up. When he reached the piton he put the rope through a karabiner and asked Nat to belay him and to hold the rope tight while he made a handhold-less traverse, next he asked for the rope to be paid out while he climbed up. I was the only one who could see him, so I was trying to give a commentary to the others; I wanted to say, after the traverse, that the difficulty was over, but it wasn't, he looked very precarious until he was up the crack, apparently his vibrams were too big to fit in, and he had to climb it mostly on his fingers. We were a little worried all this time, as Jo was telling us that André had climbed up over the piton – but Don made it the other way and belayed himself at the top, and it was my turn. I had a shock when I reached the ledge below the piton, for I thought that I couldn't reach the karabiner and, if I hadn't been able to get my rope out, I'd have been climbing without a top rope. I even suggested that Nat should come up to the ledge, but he made no move to do so, so I looked around and found there were higher footholds underneath.
I took my rope out and then started to climb up, using the karabiner as my one handhold. There was a foothold lower down for the right foot, and eventually I was able to get my left foot on the left (loose) piton, while still grasping the karabiner in my right hand. It was easiest to use that hand, but that was my mistake, for the next move was to reach up and get the right hand over the edge. Instead I was feeling around with my left hand, trying to find something I could call a handhold, but there was nothing. I was in a most peculiar position, hanging on with one foot and one hand, and had been in it for some time and realised that I ought soon to make a move. The trouble was that there was a perfect left handhold just where I needed it, and suddenly I could resist the temptation no longer and I grasped the rope and pulled on it until I could get my right hand over the edge, after which all the difficulties were over.
At the top I took off my pack, forgetting my axe, but fortunately it didn't drop. No-one else had any difficulty in climbing over the pitons.
It was about 1 p.m. when we were on the top (the interesting rock had taken 3½ hours), but we had no time to sit, there was a cloud over Mont Blanc and we thought the sooner we were down the better. Jo and Don went first and were soon out of sight, the three of us followed at a much more sedate pace, and only caught them up when they waited so that we could all go down the loose couloir together. At the bottom we stopped to eat and then we got onto the snow. Jo sad that, with her bad ankle, she couldn't glissade, she'd have to kick all the way. She amazed me by the rate at which she kicked. My rope turned round so that Nat was last man down, and we partly glissaded. I don't know when I have made a worse mess of a glacier, I even had a slip just above a little bergschrund, but fortunately my feet reached across to the other side. Finally I sat, it was so much less of a strain on the legs. We sat on the moraine and ate, and coiled the ropes and realised that the cloud had left Mont Blanc and that we were in for a nice afternoon. The boys went on down, and Jo and I followed at our own pace. At first Jo chose the snow to the side of the moraine, as she found it less of a strain on her ankle. We had another little halt at the stream just before we joined the main Montenvers path and, once on the path, Jo begged me to go on instead of waiting for her. I did so and reached Montenvers at about 5 o'clock; I believe the tea had just been made. I commandeered it and put it in a water bottle with lemon and sugar and bought a bottle of cognac and said that they were to go back to Jo. I was very pleased when Don offered to take them and I started the supper. Nat had been in a bad way all day and said that he didn't want anything to eat, so I felt I couldn't ask him to do the potatoes, so I put them with a pan and a knife in front of young Don. I believe at first he intended to do them, but then he seemed to forget and in the end I found I was doing them myself. After supper we had a visit from Mac and another boy, and had a chat; we learned that four of them wanted to do the Southwest Ridge of the Fou the next day. Don also wanted to do it and, as neither Nat nor Young Don said they felt up to it, Don assumed that I would be climbing with him. I said alright and prayed that the weather would be bad.
I had made the last brew of tea and filled the pans for the morning by 9 o'clock and I went to bed at that time, without bothering to pack my rucksack. That was a great mistake, for I never want to get up unless I know that everything is ready.
The alarm went at 2 o'clock, and Don got up and looked out and came back with the news that there was a slight drizzle and that there was sheet lightning about. I said "good" and went off to sleep again. Or perhaps not to sleep for, about half an hour later I heard Don go out again, but apparently, it was still lightning, so we gave up the idea of the climb.
Now Mac didn't wake until about 3.30 and by then the weather was better so his party set off.
On the Rognon Dick Viny thought that the Fou would be too much for a first day, so he went off for the Charmoz, and Mac and Roger Chorley did the Fou, having rain and sleet at the top.
We had breakfast at a respectable hour and then Jo, young Don and I took the train to Chamonix. Jo decided to go home for, by the time her ankle would let her climb again, it would be time for her to go home in any case. Don and I bought more stores and returned. We had all hoped to go to the Envers des Aiguille hut, but the weather was bad by mid-day, so we decided on another night in the Dortoire. The family party finally left our room and their place was taken by a much more likely looking crew.
I expect we looked at the weather at some unearthly hour, and it was sure to be bad, for we didn't get up and, after a breakfast several hours later, we decided to retreat to Chamonix, saying that it would take several days' sun to remove all the snow which must have accumulated on the rocks.
We spent a long time walking around Chamonix in the wet. Nat wanted to buy presents and I wanted to buy a hairbrush as I was afraid I had lost mine. Fortunately I applied it to my hair as soon as I had bought it, for immediately afterwards I ran into Eileen Bodkin, looking most respectable. She seemed really disgusted with the weather, she hadn't believed that there could be such overcast skies in the alps! We had a 'bifsteak' in the usual place, and so back to the Biolay to consol ourselves with cointreau.
It was another wet morning, but Pete and Johnny B were off bright and early for the Argentière hut; how I envied them, for, for the last week I had been telling my party that the only sensible thing to do in this weather was to go up to a hut like the Albert Premiere – from where little things could be climbed. Finally Ray College and Norman Cochrane also announced that they were going and, after this, Don agreed to walk up to the hut (I also didn't expect to climb, but I thought that the walk up to the hut would give a change of scenery). Nat said he wouldn't come, as he'd be leaving the next evening. Young Don said he'd stay with Nat until he left.
Don and I didn't mean to live an austere life at the hut; I know we packed things like bacon and eggs in our packs.
We had a 'bifsteak' mid-day and were ready to catch the 1 o'clock train to Argentière village, but then Ray said they'd be catching the 2 o'clock, so we also waited. Meanwhile rumours were going around about the English loss on Mont Blanc. The French never spoke to me about them; in fact, I didn't even know which French people started the scare, but I seemed the only one left out. At first, when I heard that they had last been seen going up from the Gouter hut on Tuesday, I said that either they had reached the Vallot hut, in which case they'd be all right, or else they had not reached Vallot hut, in which case we couldn't help them.
The others seemed to think this rather a callous attitude, and I agreed it was. Don and Ray in particular were sympathetic, knowing what it was like to be storm bound in the Vallot hut without food. We quickly bought extra supplies, in the way of chocolate and dried fruit, and more fuel, and five of us caught the 2.30 to Le Houches. Nat and Mac were left behind, but said they'd follow the next day.
We walked to the teleferique, and had to wait sometime for the next one. At Belle Vue there was no sign of a train, so we started to walk up the railway line, thinking that we could jump on the train, should it appear. It did not appear that day. At first I seemed getting left behind, so someone suggested that I ought to set the pace – apparently this quickened me up a lot! At Bionassay, they had the lovely idea of going in for tea and biscuits, for it was just 5 o'clock.
I was left to trail along at the end on the way up to Tête Rousse, Norman wasn't far in front of me; I don't know whether it was by design or accident. I think it took me about two hours to get up to the hut, but considering the weight of my pack I wasn't too ashamed. I had been dreading the monotony of the "desert de Pierre Roude" – somehow it wasn't as bad as I had feared. The weather had turned very cold, just like the last time I was that way, with a low cloud line. When we first arrived at Belle Vue, we'd had an occasional glimpse of the Aide Bienrossay looking like a fair mountain through the cloud.
At the hut we learned that our journey was unnecessary, that two of the English had descended, and that the other three were safely back in the Gouter hut, but we thought that we might as well go on up and see if we could make the summit the next day.
Supper seemed to take some time, we had Knorr vegetable soup and, while this was delicious when ready, it took 20 minutes to boil. In addition, we had liver and spaghetti and cheese.
We asked to be called at 3 o'clock, but were told that it would be more convenient if we were called at 2 o'clock and we agreed to this, especially as the rumour was that it was 4 hours to the next hut.
We got up at 2 o'clock on a lovely, if cold and frosty morning, breakfast over, we packed and were away by 2.50. I got left behind on the first snow slope, but then Don waited and followed me up. I appreciated this for I was thus able to get the benefit of his torch. Also I was glad to feel I was in a party, for I'm not quite sure that the other parties who roped hadn't got something. Also most parties also put on their crampons at the foot of the rocks.
It was a pleasant surprise to find ourselves at the next hut after two hours, but we didn't stop, and started straight away up the Dome. On this part of the ascent, I was most thankful not to be roped, for it meant that the fast types like the Dons could go on and make the soup and that I could go at my own pace. Towards the top of the Dome, Ray, Norman and I put on crampons, and finally Ray went on, as he was getting cold at my pace. I, also, was getting cold, but I couldn't go any faster. I had been hot as far as the Gouter hut, in just a shirt and anorak, after that I found the wind very chilling, but thought it wasn't worth stopping to dress up until I reached the Vallot. This was a mistake for, merely to sit in warm clothes wasn't nearly as warming as to climb in them.
It was a magnificent morning, but so ominous. It got light on the top rocks up the Gouter, and gradually the sun appeared through the clouds, which it lit up with a yellow and greenish tinge. To the west we had the "antisun", and the shadow of Mont Blanc gradually grew smaller until nothing was left at all – and soon nothing was left of the sunshine!
A guided party walked straight past the Vallot. I thought how terrible, for it was as much as ever I could do to stagger into the hut, and inside, even the soup hardly seemed to warm me and, as last time, the blankets seemed to make no difference to my temperature. I put on my woolly and duvet and kept them both on for a good many hours. Norman arrived sometime later and said that he wasn't a bit cold.
Eventually we set off again, and we actually roped up; I think perhaps that was a good thing; the snow condition didn't require it, but had we all been solo I might have turned back before the top, or at least have left my pack so that I had to return the same way. I soon found exercise warmed me far more than a blanket in that coldest of all huts.
I was surprised at the number of parties which were descending, obviously none of them had been to the top. The guided party which I had admired for the way they strode past the Vallot hut was the first. I haven't a very clear idea of the various parts of the route; I don't know whether it is the effect of the altitude or whether it is because the snow was so easy, that there was nothing much to make an impression on me. Near the top we passed three retreating Englishmen; they were obviously the men we were supposed to rescue, and I was surprised to learn that they also hadn't quite been to the top. Finally we passed the two Swiss who had been friendly at the Tête Rousse the night before and, when they saw us going on, they turned round and followed us up, the only other party to reach the top that day.
It was no credit to me that we got up, I kept getting slower and slower, and suggested that if the others on my rope weren't to get frostbite, I must at least leave my pack to call for it on the way back. Don took it for the last half hour (it wasn't light, for we were equipped as a rescue and not a climbing party). At first I felt completely rejuvenated without it, but that feeling had worn off before we stopped at the summit.
We had no real views after the Vallot, but the light was good enough for me to see what a wonderful snow ridge composed the summit – I had always expected a large plateau, all the way up the last part I was promising myself a photo of the actual top, but I didn't get it, the light was too poor, so it wasn't worth fiddling with a camera in the cold wind. We stopped to eat a sweet or so, and then set off down the other side. I think I was rather pleased, it hadn't really occurred to me that we should do the traverse under those conditions, and had I been asked, I should certainly have voted against it, but I wasn't asked and I had no reason to argue with the decision, for the other rope were very experienced, Norman was an all round mountaineer and Ray had been four times on Mont Blanc. I suppose that for people who had seen the mountain in bad weather, these conditions were nothing!
We soon struck soft snow, which must have slowed us up considerably, and Ray admitted that he didn't know that it would be such heavy going; we passed the Rochers Rouges and then Ray started kicking down a much steeper slope, which he hoped was the corridor, the visibility was very bad for this part, and I believe Ray, as the route finder, had quite an anxious time. Eventually we came to the bottom, to the Col de la Brenva, where we had a meal. It was reasonably warm, although there was no direct sun, and we had some views of Mt. Maudit, Ray pointing out the col we crossed. Visibility was bad again when we went on, and I found the little pull up, on Mt. Maudit very trying. We kept to the left to avoid the cornice on our right, and then found a rather large crevasse to our left; we weren't sure of the best route to avoid the bergschrund. At first we went further up, but then decided to descend. It was at this point that Ray who was now behind) asked us to make good steps as Norman wasn't feeling too good. Immediately after this our way took us traversing over ice at 30º, on which our crampons left no mark. Ray chose a lower route when he came to this part. Half way across the ice I suggested that my ankles could do with a rest, but Don said he'd like to get across and look down the rock while there was a partial clearing – I found that I was quite capable of going on without resting my ankles! We could see no way down, over the rocks, so we sat down to await Ray. He told us to go straight down the gully – this hadn't occurred to us! Don led down; it was very steep at first, in fact I went face inwards for the first few steps. It was very easy. It was possible to get the axe into something firm, although there was so much powder snow. In fact I would often kick myself behind in my effort to get the upper foot out of its step. I was most impressed with Ray's memory of the route. At first he kept telling us to traverse to the right and, sure enough, half way down Don reported an ice cliff to the left, which Ray confirmed was in the right place. Don traversed further right and found an ice cliff in that direction, so he continued straight down. We decided on another halt at the bottom. I produced my cognac which Jo and Nat had had for medicinal purposes (they claimed!) and that was soon finished, and then we had a little fruit and chocolate. I spent all day trying to revive people with "spangles" but they soon got tired of them! We were able to get some idea of the route up Mont Blanc de Tacul and, during one clear interval we were able to see the tracks we had made down from Mt. Maudit. We couldn't have avoided the cliffs better if we had been able to see all the way down.
The weather deteriorated rapidly when we started again; this time young Don led our rope, and continued up despite his headache. Ray soon said that we should miss the col, but we had better keep going up and then take a compass bearing from the summit tower. It was snowing by the time and there was a strong wind blowing. We found afterwards that we were all suffering from some sort of an illusion on this part; mine was that, at any moment, I should find myself outside a chalet selling refreshments. I think it was because I had skied from Scheidegg to Grindlewald in similar weather, and that whole route is littered with such chalets. All things come to an end, and eventually we found ourselves near the summit tower, when map and compass were consulted and the verdict was that we must start along the Northwest Ridge and then cut down to the right. Ray next asked the direction of Chamonix from Montenvers which made me rather wonder about him, but apparently he was worried because the map had no arrow indicating north. The next descent was even steeper than that from Mt. Maudit and visibility was worse; again I was worried about avalanches, but it was snowing by this time so I told myself that really new snow doesn't avalanche. I felt myself a buffer between the two Dons. Don in front was in a great hurry, while young Don behind, I was pleased to see was safeguarding the party well (I didn't quite trust the snow, I was expecting the top layer to peel off at any moment).
There was an occasional little crevasse to cross, and then Don thought he had come to another and put out his foot to step across it when he realised that he was above an ice cliff, which gives some idea of the visibility. Eventually we reached the floor of the valley at, Ray said, the right place, for a slight clearing showed that we were just to the left of the rock ridge. I felt we had descended far enough to be nearly at Chamonix. It seemed incredible that we were still at the altitude of the Col du Midi (just under 12,000 ft). Maps were consulted again and Ray told us that a mile due north should bring us to the hut and at 5.30 we started on a compass bearing, young Don leading the way. We changed round once or twice, and finally I said that I would go in front. I only took about half a dozen steps before giving up, but that did me no end of good, for until then I had no idea quite how blind the leader was. In fact, until someone mentioned it, I hadn't known that the way had turned from downhill to slight uphill, which was why I found it such hard work and gave up. At 5.55 Ray began to get a little worried, and suggested that we turned northwest to be sure not to miss the hut. Had we not altered our course I believe we should have come out at exactly the right place. Ray hadn't a watch and so didn't know that, at the pace we were going we could hardly have expected to have reached the hut. Next there was a clearing in the weather and we were able to see rocks ahead and Norman, who had been to the hut a few days before, said that it wasn't to the left, so we had better turn right, then to the right we thought we could see a hut, or was it only rock – someone noticed that it had railings round it, so it must be a hut, Norman said that it wasn't the right hut, but we didn't mind for, if it were the Cosmic Ray station it would either provide shelter, or information as to the direction of the hut we were seeking.
I knocked at the door of the Cosmic Ray Observatory and a man opened it and told us that the refuge was further round to the right. As at the next hut, he wanted to know if we had come from the Col de Géant – on such a night! It had been bad enough going up the 100 ft or so to that hut, and I was very slow going up the little slope to the refuge and, in my crampons, I didn't appreciate the little ladder. We arrived at 7 o'clock; I asked if they had room for five and was told, "Come in, we've room for 30".
They made us so welcome, despite the fact that they were already overcrowded; the hut was full of Italians working on the teleferique. This really is quite a joke, for it is for defence purposes. They need it built in such a hurry, and presumably it is against the Italians, yet it is the Italians who are building it. The cook was in bed, but three Italian girls had taken over the cooking, and I did rather well. While I was still taking of wet clothes a plate of rice with tomato and cheese was brought out to me. I put on a pair of dry socks and was paddling about the wet floor in them, until one of the Italians saw me, not only did he find me a pair of dry boots, but he bent down and put them on my feet and laced them up.
There had been some idea that we should make ourselves some tea, but before we could do so, the girls had some ready and it was put in basins for us, and I was afraid I should have to drink it without milk, until I was shown how it should be drunk, with red wine and sugar. I was asked if I should like some more, and said yes, but they then had to explain that the tea was finished – that wasn't for long though, there was soon some more made.
There was stewed meat, and then bread and cheese, and unlimited vin rouge (bought in in chianti bottles). It was a jolly evening; fortunately the Italians could speak French, but most of the time they were singing. Their only disappointment was that we couldn't sing – as we said, how could the English compete with the Italians at singing. My trouble was that I couldn't keep my eyes open, after the hours in the open, straining to see through the mist, the warm room with the wood smoke was too much for them. Eventually someone asked me if I'd like to go to bed, and showed me a place on the bunks – I was so relieved, for I thought we should have to wait until everyone else was in bed, and then get down on the floor. When I'd asked Norman the time they'd usually gone to bed, he said that one night they'd gone on singing until midnight and the next they'd packed up at about 9 o'clock. This night they quietened down soon after 10 o'clock and I had a splendid night's sleep.
All looked dismal through the steamed up double window, but as soon as the door was opened, I could see that it was a perfect morning. We weren't in a hurry to get up, nor wee the men in a hurry to start work, for it was still very cold outside at 6 o'clock. Eventually we got up, and decided to cook our own breakfast. The snow took a long time to melt. We had the bacon and eggs which we had carried so far.
Eventually we were ready to leave. I had already snapped rather wildly with my camera, but I knew that no photo would do justice to the scene, it was such an incredibly brilliant morning. Don said that one of his eyes was rather painful, so he put a piece of paper in that side of his glasses. We set of across the Valley Blanche, but then left it to go round the Rognon; I found myself in the front for a change, for Don didn't want to have to look for crevasses. Young Don's foot began to give trouble. We soon got mixed up with people coming to the Col du Midi from the Géant, and very soon reached the ordinary Regian-Géant track. I could see that the icefall gave no trouble this year, my only trouble was the new snow on top of the ice. At one time the party in front invited me to overtake, but I preferred to stick to the piste; however, sometime later I did overtake, not very elegantly. This was just before the long steep slope which I had watched people toiling up so laboriously from the Requin. This was a trial, with the soft new snow; I sat down once or twice, but never out of control. At the bottom a party in crampons raced past us, saying that they wanted to get by before the seracs came down. This made Don state how dissatisfied he had been with my pace! Finally, three cramponless men overtook us, but they turned out to be Italian guides.
We had a little to eat at the Requin, and made lemonade, and finally set off down to Montenvers – Don soon left us all behind, and Norman was next, young Don, Ray and I brought up the rear. Ray said that Norman was being joined by a novice next week, and so he was looking for another party, as we were an odd number could he join us. I said I must ask Don, but I thought he'd be only too pleased. At Montenvers, young Don just caught a train, and Ray and I walked down, we started by the path, took to the railway when the path crossed it, and almost immediately had to wait while three trains went up. At the tunnel we started down to the right and took a short cut which took us nearly to Chamonix.
I was glad to think I had walked all the way down from Mont Blanc, even if it had taken me two days.
That evening we walked to the Pelerin for dinner at the Cremerie Mont Blanc. Young Don thought it rather a long way out, with his bad foot. I thought the dinner worth the walk, after the soup, we had ham and egg, and then the main course of beefsteak and vegetables, followed by an apricot sweet. On our way back we finished off with a Pernod in a café.
Young Don didn't think he'd be able to climb for a day or so, so Pete Perkins was approached and asked to make a fourth with Ray. He had been at rather a loose end since his companion Johnny B. had broken his leg when they were out from the Argentiere hut (when I was told about it they described Johnny B. as the man who had sworn at me, I wondered whether they'd see any connection between the two incidents).
Ray and I were for going up by train, and the other two were for walking, but we took their sacs on the train. We had hoped to catch the 4 o'clock train, but it was full, so we had to wait for the 5.45. At Montenvers we took our own packs the 20 minutes walk along to the Forresters hut, and then came back and took the other packs out of the office, and the other two soon arrived. I had my other pack to carry, so Ray carried the water bucket. There were already three English in the hut. Alan Simpson who we had last seen on Mont Blanc, and two girls, Joyce and Elly, from the Biolay. Like us, they were for the Blaitière the next day. I was in sad disgrace, I had forgotten the liver and the jam.
The alarm went at 2 o'clock and, after some discussion, we got up. The weather didn't look at all settled, but it wasn't really bad enough to keep us in. We had a leisurely breakfast, and then I said that I'd start so that I could warm up gradually, I rather enjoyed that walk, thinking what historic ground it was, and, as I used the easy path, I tried to remember what there'd be in Mumery's day. It got light soon after I reached the band of moraine and, just before the descent, I stopped, put on my duvet for warmth, and sat on top of the largest stone I could find and alternately read the guidebook and watched the sky to the east. The night before we had gone through the description of the Southwest Ridge of the Fou, and had found route 224 confusing. I found that 225, an easier alternative of 224, was the route we took to the Vires Fontaines.
I saw some people approaching and got down off my rock, only to find that it was a guide and his monsieur. I explained that I was waiting for my friends. Next, a party of four came along, I didn't speak and they looked rather puzzled to see me. Ray had mentioned in the hut that it was possible to go directly up the moraine, and avoid the zigzags. I began to wonder whether they had gone some other way and got in front, when Pete appeared, going rather fast. I asked him if he were the vanguard and he said hadn't the others come? He explained that he had gone back for a rope, and was quite half an hour behind the others.
Eventually we saw Don toiling up to the right, he said that the others were behind, that they were coming Ray's pet way, which Don didn't think much of. I then learned that Alan, who was going back that night, and didn't want to get his clothes wet, wasn't coming, and the two girls were coming with us. We waited for them and then found that they already had their crampons on, so they got ahead, but we soon caught them up. After the first ice, the glacier was soft, but we didn't bother to remove our crampons. Just before the traverse to the Rognon, the guide and his client passed us on their way down. The client had hurt his knee, so they were turning back.
I felt that it had been worth coming out just to see the guide come down that glacier, he started with his hands in his pockets, but as soon as his monsieur thought he'd prefer a sitting glissade, he took one hand out to take hold of the rope. He occasionally took a step if he found he wasn't going fast enough, and they were soon down.
There was a little snow on the bottom of the Rognon, and after this we took off our crampons. Joyce dropped one of hers, and Don started to go down for it. Pete meanwhile started up the Rognon and I followed, with Elly behind; Don came next, after seeing Ray recover the crampon.
At the top we roped up, Don with Elly and me, and sat down to await the others. They didn't come, so we discussed the matter. Don said he had seen Ray recover the crampon and Elly said that she had seen Joyce and Ray start up the rocks, so eventually Don unroped and ran down to the bottom of the Rognon. He was soon back, saying that he couldn't see the others.
We didn't know what to think, we knew that it was possible that they had turned back, but I didn't think it likely. I remembered how fussy Ray had been about little points of etiquette on Mont. Blanc, and I kept saying that he'd never have done a thing like that. The only other explanation was that they had fallen down somewhere, although how both of an unroped pair could disappear, we couldn't imagine. We looked down onto the snow and saw some tracks wandering about between the crevasses, and Don and Pete agreed to go down and investigate. It wasn't likely that, once having got onto the rock, they'd have descended and taken to the ice, but obviously something unlikely had happened, for the only likely thing was that they'd have climbed to the top of the Rognon, and they hadn't done this.
Elly and I watched from the top, and once Don was on the snow, we could see that it was far steeper than I had at first thought. They went in some horrible places, and searched all the likely and unlikely crevasses, and then returned saying that they could find no trace. It was after 9 o'clock by this time, far too late to start up for the climb (had we had the inclination to do so), we had lost well over two hours; I suggested that, if the boys wanted to climb, they should go on and we could go back, and if Ray and Joyce weren't in the hut, I would return and meet them on the Rognon on their way down and we could resume the search.
They said they were far too worried to enjoy a climb, so we all started down. At the bottom of the Rognon Don realised that a sling of his had been left at the top, so he made yet another trip up to recover it.
Despite the guide's example, I wasn't very proud of my attempts to glissade the glacier. At the foot of the couloir leading to the Col de Buch we met two of the party of four which had passed me that morning. They asked us if we had seen the guide with the man with the bad knee, and we said yes, they had turned back hours ago. Then the man started to say did we know if the man had his dinner …. at this point we interrupted and said that we knew nothing about his dinner. I shall always regret that interruption, for how was he going to end his sentence? We explained about our lost friends and, however many times we explained that we had seen them start up the rocks of the Rognon, the man would ask "And had they actually reached the Rognon?" – we gave up!
Later we had many a laugh over the two sentences: "Had he had his dinner?...and "Had they actually reached the Rognon?".
Without crampons I crawled over the last ice on all fours. On the moraine we had a little to eat, and then went down to the hut; we were a little while behind the party of four, but eventually were able to overtake and reach the hut where we found Ray and Joyce. Ray hadn't felt so good and decided to turn back and Joyce didn't want to go on by herself. Ray hadn't expected us to wait at the top, despite the fact that we had both ropes. The trouble was that they were gong down the glacier while we were expecting them to be on their way up, i.e. before we had started to look for them.
And so ended this most strange and disorganised of mornings.
In the afternoon, Don decided to go down to Chamonix to bring up a few luxuries. Ray was running short of food, so I don't know how he'd have got on if he'd had his way and we'd been able to go on over to the south side of Mont Blanc.
Alan went down mid-day and then a thunderstorm broke (there had only been light showers in the morning). There was very little amusement in the hut, so Joyce and Elly got me to join them in a game of spillikins. Pete was so fascinated watching us that he also joined in – I think he won, too.
At about 4 o'clock, two Cambridge boys, David Fisher and George arrived; they appointed themselves wardens of the hut, and re-arranged the furniture. There seemed no sign of Don returning, so I made my supper of soup and bread and cheese; eventually, at about 8 o'clock he turned up, very wet. I should think he expected sympathy for his journey and his load, not to mention the weather and all he got was "You're not going to start cooking now" from me, but I felt rather guilty and eventually helped him cook his liver and potatoes. I didn't want any myself, I had promised myself an 8 o'clock night.
Once more I went to bed without getting my rucksack packed for the morning.
The alarm went at 2 o'clock and Pete jumped out and looked out the window. He reported that there was mist in the valley, but there were no patches of black in the sky. I just listened to the bit about the mist and said good, we needn't get up (It had been suggested that the six of us should do the Blaitière again and, having turned back from it twice, I had no enthusiasm for the scheme). We set the alarm for 3 o'clock and went to sleep. At 3, I managed to say "Isn't anyone going to get up", but fortunately no-one did so, and I was able to finish my sleep. In the morning (what you'd recognise as morning), some people were quite annoyed that we hadn't got up, as it was quite a nice day, apparently I was the only one to hear the second alarm. The Cambridge boys blamed me, they said I set the alarm too early in the first place, which they said was a psychological error.
Ray had no food left and decided to retreat to Chamonix, and the girls thought they'd go down as well. Pete said he'd go down for some more stores and bring up a few more odds and ends for us.
I had quite a happy day lounging by the hut, at first there were pans to clean, then a meal to cook, and then I spent several hours in the afternoon in strategic positions on the Montenvers path, waiting for the mist to clear so that I could photograph the Drus, needless to say the mist did not clear, or not enough.
Like Don, Pete wasn't in a hurry to come back, but he arrived eventually, and we were in bed in good time.
I compromised with the Cambridge boys, and the alarm was set for 2.30 a.m. I was awake before this and could see that it was a lovely night. I got up the instant the alarm started at 2.25 and soon had the stove going.
I had finished my breakfast by about 3 a.m. and set out, to take my time and warm up gradually. The others caught me up just before the moraine, as dawn was breaking, with the usual alpine suddenness. I kept up on the glacier (I wasn't the only one without quick fastening crampons, and I was able to get a start up the snow. We waited perhaps a quarter of an hour at the top of Rognon, and ate, roped up, and replaced our crampons before setting up the steep snow, leaving the usual path and going between the two ice falls and making for the third brêche in the North Ridge of the Blaitière. I remembered Jo telling Don that the route didn't go up the snow, but the rocks to the right (I was busy cooking, while Jo had gone over this route with Don – I regretted this for Don didn't seem to remember much). This day, the easiest way was up the snow, at one point Don traversed over to the rocks, but they were far more difficult, as the snow wasn't firm on them, while in the gully it was in good condition for cutting up. I remember finding one step on the rock difficult, because I didn't want to jam a crampon in a crack.
Soon we were on the ridge and taking off our crampons, and starting along the Vires Fontaines and we hoped we were on the right ledge, but realised eventually that we were too low, for we had to traverse up in the Couloir Reynier to get to the Vires Reynier. The going had been easy enough, there were a few patches of verglas, and some snow here and there, and for one little descent we went one at a time. I found the final chimney very awkward, and I felt that it would have saved time to have got out the spare rope for this, Mac must have taken the same route, for he seemed to have described a rappel in a similar place.
Don soon had to start step kicking in the Vires Reynier; it was easy enough to follow up except for about 6 ft of rock near the top – I had to have a second try at it, and then I was rather relying on my tight rope as I moved my hand up, at the crucial point. Soon we were on the col and sitting in the sun, sheltered from the wind, and eating and enjoying life. The view was superb, the day was still cloudless and we had those wonderful obelisks, the Caiman and Crocodile in front of us, rising up from the magnificent cirque round the Envers de Blaitière Glacier. We had taken about 7 hours to reach the col, instead of the 5 the book mentioned from the Plan de l'Aiguille. I wasn't worried, for I felt that the book didn't allow for the conditions we had found.
At 12 o'clock we started up the climb; I followed Don to the foot of the 1st grade V pitch and we left our packs and Don started up. He was soon belayed and it was my turn to climb, and I left Pete busily tapping at the lowest, and quite unnecessary piton, trying to recover it. At least I thought I had left Pete! Don had left a sling on the second piton; it was too long to be of any use, so I doubled it, which gave a foothold in just the right place. I stepped up from that onto the piton, from where I could reach the next sling which Don had left. I grasped the sling and started pulling up on it, trusting everything on it. The next I knew I was flying through the air, and I landed astride on Pete's shoulders; I must have given him a great shock, for he wasn't belayed, but I think my weight must have come on the rope, for I didn't knock him off. Don must also have had a shock, for I pulled him off his stance. Apparently his first thought was that it was his old sling with which he was belayed. Later, when he took the sling off he got another shock, for he found that it was only just on the belay. Which is how Don added an Italian piton to his collection! When I tried again, I didn't find it difficult, even without the loose piton, let alone the sling! – and I am the one who doesn't approve of pitons!
Next we moved up to the next grade V pitch, the lay-back crack, and Don climbed it; Pete was a little way below me, and was to throw down his spare rope, onto which the others were to tie the sacs, and Pete was to pull them up. The trouble was that Pete was too successful in throwing down his rope. He threw both ends of it away – he thought one end was attached to his waist, and found out too late that it wasn't! This delayed us about an hour. It lodged about 8 ft below the Col, and David climbed down to it; this was difficult, especially as the rock was so loose. David sent a whole shower of it down. Next we had to wait while David climbed up to Pete with the rope, and then Pete started pulling up the packs. Pete found this hard work, so we agreed that after the next grade V pitch, he and I could climb with them, leaving Don free (Pete hadn't brought a rucksack, he attached his rope to himself, and his crampons and axe were in my pack).
Next, I climbed the crack. I didn't lay-back it at all, the bottom part was well laced with pitons, up which I climbed, and then the next hold was the 'ammer 'andle which Mac had told us about – it was an airy move until I could reach it with my hands, and then I seemed stuck, I could almost get a knee on it, but not quite – I forget how, but eventually I got a knee or foot on it, when the rope seemed to have most of my weight (Pete said that he also came on the rope on this part). On the next part, Don had gone up and down to get to the belay. I traversed straight across, but found it very thin and used the rope as a handhold (I had no pride by this time). Soon we and the packs were reunited, and we scrambled up to the beginning of the next difficulty, a grade IV (scrambled is an understatement!). This was a rateau de chevre, "lightly overhanging at the base". Don was rather put out by the look of it, but he said that the crack to the right, although it was possible at the bottom, and had a piton in it, looked unclimbable at the top, so he started on the rateau – and once he tried it he was soon up it, and it was my turn, and so greatly did I underestimate the difficulty that I carried my pack – it wasn't even a IV sup, and I had carried a pack on the Roc, except for the chimney, and up the Grépon East Face the year before. Getting up to the beginning of the flake, I bumped my head on the rock, which was the rocks way of emphasising that everything was overhanging! Don had wedged his left knee until he could get his right foot onto the foothold, but I couldn't get my knee up high enough for this – why I couldn't get this extra bit of height I shall never understand, perhaps it was because the edge of the flake was nearly vertical and I couldn't pull myself up on it. I tried lay-backing (advice I had given to Don) but that was no good. I couldn't jam a vibram into the knee hold, but I realised that an unbooted foot would jam very well, so I took off my boot. I was about to leave it where it was, when Pete suggested I sent it down to him, I picked it up with my toe and dropped it, and he caught it, thank heavens! – I got my foot in the hold, but I still couldn't make it for, by this time, my hands were worn out, for it was impossible even to stand at the foot of the rateau, without hanging on with a hand. I tried using the rope as a handhold, but this was no good for two reasons; firstly, that my hands were useless, and secondly because the rope wasn't even tight (and I'm sure that Don by this time was pulling with all his strength). I said I should have to go down, and asked for a tight rope, as I was incapable of climbing down – I gave myself a shock as I fell onto the rope, and landed in the snow. I felt a complete rat in a trap. How I longed to say that I wouldn't bother with the rest of the climb, that I'd go home, but that wasn't possible, I knew I'd got to get up. I changed places with Pete on the rope, he climbed the pitch in no time, and then hauled up the packs (only our own - he had found it too exhausting to do the other rope's as well).
I'm sure the two of them were hauling on the rope as hard as they could – they kept it just about tight (or that's how it seemed to me!). This time I didn't bump my head, but I found it more difficult to get to the foot of the flake, but once there I was soon able to jam my unbooted foot, and then get my right foot on the hold. I had a rest there, and then another about a foot further up (much to the disgust of Don!), but then I was able to swing across to the right and all difficulty was over.
We also climbed without packs for the next two grade IVs and I had a tight rope for both. I started up the first one and found that a sling round my neck was catching in the rock, so I went down and re-arranged the sling; this was my undoing, for this first attempt tired my hands – it was a case of lay-back holds on the left wall until it was possible to get a foot onto the right wall – which was overhanging. I needed a very tight rope to get my foot onto the hold.
The next pitch looked most ferocious, with its two pitons in position, yet I almost made it without help! – there was one place where I was glad of a tight rope, while I moved my left hand up to a different hold – I didn't think my right hand would hold me in while I made this move. Don had climbed straight up the crack, but Pete and I followed the book and traversed to the left. I didn't find this traverse a grade IV at all.
Next there was some scrambling, followed by a grade IV delicate. Even I managed this with a pack – perhaps thinner fingers fitted into the crack better than stronger ones. I was given a tight rope for the grade III overhang, but the handholds were adequate – all the way up I had had plenty in hand as far as my arms were concerned, it was my hands which had let me down. Of course, I ought not to have expected anything else on a 'td' "rude athletique". – it was Jo who misled me, she hadn't found it strenuous at all, in fact she had been less tired after it than she had been after then Chermoz-Grépon traverse. Or was it merely the difference between guided and guideless climbing?
We weren't yet up, it was 3.30, but there was still the summit block; I forget why, but I was the first down, and here I committed my final crime and slipped down the foot or so into the snow, but no damage was done. I traversed round and then up to the foot of the Northeast arête of the final slab, and the others followed. From this stance I could watch David and George ascending, and they wanted to know if I had taken over the lead. Don next had a look at the final pitch; there was verglas on the north side of the slab, but the arête was free.
Don had one look at the arête and decided he didn't like it. He tried to hook a sling on a projection, but he couldn't manage it, so he said he'd try to "lancer la cande".
This involved going back to the southwest side, where we had first ascended and throwing the rope over – this was then anchored under the overhang and the rope was then climbed up to the southwest side, i.e. it was no use for climbing up the northeast arête. Don agreed that we'd leave at 4 o'clock, whether he'd managed this block or not.
At just about 4 o'clock, the Cambridge rope arrived, and David seemed absolutely determined that the slab should be ascended. He retreated from the arête as Don had done, and tried it again in rubbers. He still couldn't climb it, so Don continued his effort to throw the rope. He started weighting it with his piton hammer, but soon broke the handle of this (he recovered the hammer part) and then continued with three karabiners.
Eventually the rope was over and Pete had it firmly anchored, and then we waited some time while Don climbed it – it was Pete's ½ wt. nylon, and I think he found this utterly exhausting. Both Pete and I said we didn't want to go up. I think this was really in protest against the amount of time which had been wasted – so we changed ropes with the other two, and both of them climbed the arête and said it wasn't difficult. Don soon abseiled down the thin nylon, and the three of us started down, at 5.30.
For some time Pete and I had been anxious, as the clouds had started gathering, and there was a little mist round the Aiguilles and I was afraid we might have to find our way to the Blaitière with bad visibility. A dozen times I had been on the point of suggesting to Pete that he and I should start down and leave Don with the other two, but somehow it didn't seem the thing to do, and I had managed to keep quiet.
We nearly abseiled too soon, on a rock where a sling had been left, but fortunately Don saw a traverse which took us further round and we abseiled from the right point.
I think we must have gone down too far, for we got onto some horrible, loose, grey rock, so different from the firm yellow variety – but it wasn't too difficult. We managed not to untie. Don would go down until he had run out all the rope to me, and then I would join him on a little stance and he would go down, and then Pete would go the whole way down and I would be last down (this happened twice, because the lifeline was shorter than the abseil rope). After the first abseil we had to wait until the others caught us up with Pete's spare rope, and then we were able to go on. Finally, the third abseil landed us into some snow, from where we joined the proper route (David reckons that we found the correct route, but we didn't get onto the ridge before the gendarme; we were too low). We were round the Ciseaux in no time, and then traversing the Blaitière to the top of the Spencer Couloir – getting out our axes for the snow on the last part. Don was a little impatient that I wasn't quicker on this last part, and certainly the sky looked most ominous. Nevertheless I couldn't help but admire the view over Chamonix; the sky was red, with a heavy band of cloud, and the alpine glow was reflected on all the snow and rocks. How I wished I were anywhere but near the top of the Blaitière, and at that time I hadn't the remotest idea what was in store for me.
I must confess that I was as bad as anyone for expecting conditions to be good in the Spencer Couloir – right from the start of the holiday, people had told us how easy it was this year. Certainly Jo had said that, under no condition would she go in it (she said that she had just won her American scholarship and she didn't want anything to happen to her before she could take it up), but I put this down to the fact that she had seen it last year when it was hard ice and utterly impossible.
Right from the start Pete had told us that the easiest way down the Blaitière was the Bregault arête and he kept repeating this information at intervals. I took no part in the argument, for I must confess that, while I should normally choose the rock route, I didn't expect any difficulty in the couloir. It faced east, and the east slopes on Mont Blanc had been ridiculously easy, and the little gully we had gone up that morning, although it needed steps cutting, had been in splendid condition, i.e. we had been able to get good axe belays.
On the Fou everyone had said that, so long as we reached the top of the couloir before dark, we should be alright, and when I had shown impatience with the time taken with the last pitch, David had asked me if I wished to get right down to Chamonix that night (I blame the other rope as much as I do my own, for the predicament we found ourselves in).
We got to the top of the couloir about 7 o'clock, i.e. with an hour of daylight left, but we found the conditions appalling, there was 6-9 inches of powder snow on top of ice or hard snow, and it wasn't firm, most of the time the under snow was too hard to get an axe in for a belay. There seemed no alternative to descending the gully, there was only an hour of daylight left, and it wouldn't be easy to climb unknown rocks in the dark, also the rocks were absolutely plastered with snow, and the book said they were only 'pd' if free from snow – did this mean that they were of the belay-less type? We didn't investigate, the storm was nearly upon us and our best plan seemed to get as far down the couloir as possible (we could see no possible shelter for a bivouac).
I was the first to put on my crampons, I remembered that, although they had been unnecessary on the soft snow on Mont Blanc, they hadn't been a hindrance, as the snow hadn't been wet and of the balling type. Don and Pete did the same, the other rope preferred vibrams, saying that it was easier to kick steps without crampons. Afterwards Pete and the Cambridge boys maintained that crampons were a mistake, but I didn't agree.
Before the couloir Don had been impatient with my slowness, but in the hour of need he couldn't have been more sympathetic. I was sorry that he went down first, for I hadn't climbed with Pete before. I told him to take my rope very seriously and he belayed me splendidly as far as we kicked down. I went face inwards – as the book says, the average angle of the couloir is 51º! At times the surface seemed in better condition, and there were stances where I actually had a belay, but most of the time the belay was purely psychological. We moved one at a time, and it was dark before we had gone any distance and the storm broke. The thunder and lightning were instantaneous – I've never before been afraid of a storm, but in this I kept thinking of the men who had been burned by lightning, despite having the shelter of the Champona hut. I kept wondering what we should do if one or all of us were struck. The way our axes reflected the lightning into our eyes was a reminder that they were no fit companions in a thunderstorm, but again, what could we do? It was a case of what we should have done previously – I think we'd all been instrumental in losing an equal amount of time on the climb, 1-2 hours each.
We started going down slightly to the right of the couloir and, when we were about level with the brêche in the Rocher de la Corde Ridge, Don suggested that he should cut steps in the ice beneath and he made a beautiful traverse across to the left, and got out his torch to let me see them. I think it was here that the storm was at its worst. It was snowing and the snow was pouring down the gully into the steps, and I had great difficulty in using the steps. Right in the middle I lost my footing, but I had a tight rope both sides and my axe held and I was able to recover. After this traverse we started going straight down again, and the snow was bad. I had another psychological belay. Don was to my right and had my rope and was holding the torch for Pete. I was taking in his rope and suddenly found I had some slack, I said to Don "He's coming rapidly". "Too rapidly" Don replied, and the next moment Pete was past us and I was hanging onto rope and axe, and hoping for the best. The best didn't happen; I was torn out and realised that I was going down the gully head first, in which position it seemed impossible to use my axe. I wasn't worried at first; I had found it such a nightmare kicking down that gully that it was almost a relief not to have to continue the same way, for the hours that would have been necessary to get us down. Also there was the smug feeling, that, if I were morally responsible (I was old enough to know better, also I expect it was because I was so slow, Pete thought he ought to hurry things), I hadn't actually been the one to slip – a completely ostrich-like attitude. I wasn't worried at first, for I had every confidence in the ends of my rope, they'd stop me, and then we'd find we were half way down the couloir. It never occurred to me that they had both lost their axes. Whenever I was in contact with the slope, I'd try to dig mine in, but I was never in contact for long enough to do any good, for I was going head over heels. After a while, I got a little annoyed, not to mention worried – if they don't do something soon we'll be in the bergschrund I thought, remembering what a huge crevasse it had been last year, but still we went on down and down. After an age, I came to a stop, my hands were in the air, my axe wedged in behind me, and I was wedged in, and the snow was piling down on top of me. I moved my hands as much as I could, remembering having read that one should clear a space around one's head when caught in an avalanche, before the snow consolidated, but I wasn't in an avalanche for the snow soon stopped. I wondered what had happened to the others. I soon found that Don was beneath me, and very sorry for himself – I told him that I was hardly wedged at all, but that didn't seem to cheer him, so I thought that if I got out he might be able to move. I found getting out wasn't quite as simple as I'd expected, but it didn't take very long and then I was trying to remove the snow from Don. Somewhere in the middle of this Pete poked his head over the top of the bergschrund. Apparently he had come down after us, and had shot over it, to be pulled up by the rope.
Soon Don was talking a little more coherently – at first he thought he'd broken his leg, but he soon changed that and said that he'd hurt his knee. Don had lost his torch and one crampon. I got out my candle lantern and little tin of matches, but, while I could light the matches they didn't stay alight long enough to light the candle (it was still snowing) and, after I'd used them all up we reconciled ourselves to finding our way down in the dark (when I got back I found my torch in my pack!).
Pete and I found we'd had the same two thoughts at the bottom. The first was one of absolute incredulity that we were alive and unhurt, and the second was one of absolute joy that we were down the couloir. I knew that I had bruised and grazed my face, but I hoped that it would heal up before I got home.
I wished to stop in the bergschrund and put on my duvet, but the others were afraid that if we sat down we shouldn't want to get up again and they were for moving on at once. I realised that the bergschrund was an excellent avalanche trap and realised that it was a good idea to get out. Don went down first and I belayed him, and then I thought that Pete as last man would want my axe, so I asked him for his piton hammer, to give me something to hold. He said I could keep my axe; I was most grateful at the time, but I believe I should have been much quicker if Pete had had the axe. I went down backwards and, with each stop I took, I rammed the axe in really well, as though the safety of the whole party depended upon it – the others repeated at intervals, "Another slip and we've had it" – that didn't encourage me to hurry. Don crawled down on all fours, sometimes his knee would give way and he'd roll over, but he never came on the rope. He would wait while I came down, and Pete would walk down independently, completely sure of himself.
We weren't quite sure of the route, we never found the traces of the usual way, and at one point we seemed traversing something rather steep, but I suppose the dark made it seem more sensational than it was.
We traversed down, and to the bottom of the Charmoz-Grépon couloir, and then back again to the Rognon – at times I tried moving down with Don, but still I was far slower, for, with each step I would put in my axe, with the rope round it.
We reached the Rognon at about 12.00 and thought we'd have something to eat – for a little while I thought I'd been seeing things, and I took no notice of the purple lights in front of my eyes, but then I noticed that at the ends of my fingers there were little threads with luminous purple balls attached and I tried to pick them off, they wouldn't come, and then I realised that they were also attached to the ends of my hair. I also realised that both ends of my axe were luminous, and that it was buzzing. I followed the others who were running to get under the cover of a rock. I put on my duvet, but it was soon wet through and I discovered that nylon and down are no substitute for wool in the rain, for it was no comfort. We had a little to eat, and were about to start down when I realised that it was raining, so I suggested that we should stay in the shelter of the cave and see if it stopped. The silly thing was that the cave gave no shelter from the rain, even if it protected us from the St. Elmo's fire. It was most uncomfortable, and we couldn't keep each other warm, we had all been shivering ever since we landed in the bergschrund and we only got colder on the Rognon. Although I was shivering all the time, I seemed to doze occasionally and then I opened my eyes and found that everything was white – I felt what fools we were not to have got down the rocks before they became more difficult, I looked at my watch and was astonished to find that it was 1.30.
Don and Pete walked down the rocks as though it were daylight and dry. I took an age; I still had my crampons on and my axe was in the uphill position through my sac. My trouble was that my arms were completely numb from my elbows down, and I found it very difficult to lower myself on hands I couldn't feel, to footholds I couldn't see. I used the rope to get down the little slab. Pete and Don showed no impatience, I expect really I could have taken chances, but I didn't really know how much Pete had in hand for if I slipped, so, as always, I preferred to be slow and sure. Eventually, at about 4 o'clock, we were down the Rognon and on the glacier, watching it get light by jerks. The lower part of the glacier offered no difficulty and, at first, Pete gave Don a hand, while I walked behind, but lower down I made a second crutch for Don.
Off the snow Don took the axe and went on while Pete and I ate and took off our crampons and did up the rope, and then we caught up Don. Pete was in front and Don sent him on to make the tea, and when I caught up Don he sent me on to bring it back to him.
In the middle of the zigzags I caught up Pete, he was talking to four French people who were camping there and he told me that, as he was stumbling down the path, one of the men had come after him and asked him where he was going. Pete said to Montenvers to make tea for his friends; the man said wouldn't he stay and have coffee with them – of course, Pete was delighted and, soon after I arrived, I was handed coffee and given bread and ham to eat, and there was chocolate as well. Later they made some tea. The girl saw I was shivering, so she helped me put on some of her dry clothes, and then the man found some for Pete. Don soon arrived, and then, about a quarter of an hour later, David and George and they were all given a hot drink. We heard that the other two had taken 8 hours to kick down the gully, but it was the 8 hours of darkness so that, when they got to the glacier it was light and they could see their way.
Poor George! It was his first climb of the holiday; he said that, when it was his turn to belay David in the gully, he'd find himself dozing and he'd only wake up when George got to the end of the rope. They also said that they were so tired of kicking that, at the bottom the steps they'd kick would only be about an inch below each other. Apparently the last 300 ft or so of the gully had been in better condition.
I soon went on down, and got on the stove; I was pleased to find that we still had some water left, I had been worrying all night in case the two French people we had left in the hut should have used it all.
The first lot of tea I put into a bottle for Don and added lemon and sugar. Then I saw that our French good Samaritans had arrived, so I gave the next lot to them and returned their clothes, before going back to Don. Back in the hut I found that Pete had made another lot of tea, so we drank that, and, as it was the end of the water, I collected a rucksack full of bottles and started out for Montenvers. I had on Don's camouflaged trousers (my own were a little torn, besides being soaking wet) and a dry woolly and a gas cape, for it was a showery day, more wet than fine.
At Montenvers one climber who passed me said "camouflage" – I gave him such a glare, for I thought he was referring to my face; too late I realised that it would be my clothes! Back in the hut we cooked a meal – soup, and spaghetti with bacon and egg, and about 1 o'clock went to bed.
I was amazed the way the daylight revived me. As I had sat on the Rognon in the small hours, I imagined that I should go straight to bed when I got down, without even bothering to make tea, but with the coming of the light, I felt quite fit for an ordinary, rather lazy day. I didn't sleep well that afternoon, but perhaps it was because the layer of hay was too thin to disguise the hardness of the boards – never would sprung mattresses have been more acceptable than that day, to our three bruised bodies.
At 6 o'clock we stirred to cook another meal and fetch more water, and so to bed.
We got up in good time, and had breakfast upstairs to keep Don company; it was a lovely day and our next move was to get our wet clothes out to dry.
Originally Pete and George had said they'd get up at 3.30 to go back and look for the lost axes and Don's single crampon. George was to have set the alarm, but it didn't go off, so at 3.45 I told them the time and George looked out and said the weather was good, but Pete decided that he was too stiff to go. As it turned out I was glad they were there to help, for Don had such difficulty in walking, it took 2½ hours to get to Montenvers. George was very useful as a crutch-maker; first he cut down a young tree and whipped an axe to it, but the tree was too flexible, and in the end he had to whip two axes together; this worked very well, Don had his hand on the lower one, and the top one supported him under his armpit.
I started with the other two, but it was such a painfully slow pace that I went on, and took my two packs to Montenvers and came back with lemonade. Several people we passed offered to help; one man wished to massage the knee. Occasionally people would wish to know if I'd knocked my face on the Mer de Glace, so I'd tell them no, in the Spencer Couloir, and, if they wished to know how far I fell, I'd say 200 metres, which I don't think was far from the truth.
We were just too late for the 2.15 train; I hadn't been able to attract the man's attention for I didn't think a blessé ought to queue, but Don insisted on going in the sheep-pen, so I followed him. Soon the officials seemed to hear about us, for they called the mutilé out, to wait on the seat on the platform, and Pete and I joined him. We were some time undoing the axes, so well had George whipped them together.
Back in Chamonix I hurried to the Biolay with the 3 packs, to try and find young Don, but the place was deserted, so I went back to meet Don. Later we found a note from young Don saying that, as his money was running out he had gone home. Don thought he ought to get his leg looked at that night, but no-one could tell us the address of the nearest doctor, so eventually we started down towards the town. The car park attendant couldn't help and suggested that I enquired at the café opposite. Here the man could speak a little English, and soon phoned for the doctor.
The doctor arrived by car, had a look at the leg and said we must go to the hospital. Don couldn't get his leg in the front seat, it wouldn't bend enough, but he was alright in the back.
We walked straight in the hospital, went up in the lift, and the doctor put on a white coat, and took us into the X-ray department. There was quite a queue for this and, as soon as Don was X-rayed, he was moved out to make room for the next. Eventually, the doctor came out with his verdict. He ha been so concerned with the bruise beneath the knee that when he said to me that it was "pas cassé", I translated that to Don that it was broken. Fortunately he understood what I had said and corrected me. The trouble with the knee, he said, was only in the muscle. He said that Don was to rest it for a fortnight, and he gave me a prescription for tincture of Arnica to put on it. He took another X-ray of the knee in two positions, to make sure, and then allowed us to go.
Firstly we paid the bill of 6,200 fr. and then had to wait about half an hour until the taxi arrived. The doctor insisted that we went straight home, and said that Don couldn't first eat in the town, so, as soon as we got back I had to go into town to buy provisions and to get Don's prescription made up.
There was no-one I knew very well at the Biolay, but the English people there were quite helpful.
After breakfast I went into the town straight away to cash a cheque and do some shopping, Don said that he couldn't come until he'd had a wash and shave. Next, I had to wait until Don was ready, and go back with him. The banks were closed, but he was able to cash his cheques at the tourist office, after which we went back for a slightly late lunch. When we had nearly finished, Pete arrived (he had been too stiff to walk down the day before, and hadn't the money for the train). He finished off the soup we couldn't eat and then we presented him with a packet of rice and three surplus packets of spaghetti – I felt he'd remember me for one thing, spaghetti – I had cooked so much of it at the hut, and now I had given him enough for a month.
Ray also came down, with Joyce and Elly; they had been turned back on the Argentière and the Eveque.
Soon I began to get sorted out those who were to be our companions for the journey; there was Johnny Lees, who was going to collect Johnny B. from the hospital. Then there was George who had been on a mountaineering association party (the on Basil Hills would have led, had he not broken his ankle!), Joyce, and Frank and Peter the two Irish boys, and Ray.
At first, everyone was going to catch the 8.20, but next they all decided on the 6.50, which cut down my time for shopping and packing. I went out on my own and bought myself a new framed rucksack from Snell Sports; Don thought this very extravagant of me, but, as I said, a commando frame doesn't fit me, and my old Bukta frame is worn out. I also got a pair of thick pantaloon, while I was in the shop.
Back at the Biolay, I found Don wanting to go out for a meal, but I hadn't time so I suggested an English afternoon tea, and I proceeded to enjoy the meal – Don was disgusted; fortunately Pete took him into town, and I was able to get on with my packing.
I slipped into town and bought some bananas and pears for the journey and thought that, with the corned beef and cheese and the bread which Don was buying, I was alright. I found that Don had all sorts of luxuries, such as ham and cream cheese. His box of patisserie was very welcome.
Elly carried one of my packs to the station, and Pete took Don's, and we caught the train to St. Gervais.
Here we found both the Paris trains full up; only Johnny B., with his leg in plaster, was able to get a seat. At one stage we carried our packs under the subway and onto platform I, but that was full up, so we carried them back again. Then, at 8.20, we learned that a relief train was leaving platform I at 8.30 and we were advised to cross the lines to get to platform I. I was tired of carrying Don's rucksack (George would take one of mine) , so I left it behind, intending to make another journey for it.
Most of the relief train was booked up and we took sometime finding a place, and finally settled on the corridor of the end carriage.
George asked me if I had Don's rucksack and when I said no, he got out. I wasn't sure if he understood that it was still on the other platform, so I got out, telling the others to keep the train for me, and went under the subway and, seeing the platform was clear of rucksacks I ran back again, and just got on the train as it was drawing out. Fortunately, George had been round the front of the train and had come back with the rucksack.
A ticket collector came round to tell us that there were seats further up the train, but Don and I preferred to get out our bags on the floor. Before settling down for the night, I spent several hours with the others who were in a 2nd class carriage, marked down for the use of 3rd class passengers.
I woke Don about 6.30; I needn't have bothered for we didn't get into Paris until about 8 o'clock. At the Gare du Lyon we firstly joined the taxi queue, but then someone noticed that the ordinary bus went to the Gare St. Lazare, so we joined the queue for that. Ray, who was flying back, left his own luggage at the station, and took one of my rucksacks.
On the bus I had two rucksacks. I tried to leave them outside, but the conductor said I must put them on my lap. They had my seat and I stood! We all got on the bus except Ray, and the conductor said it would be cheaper if bought a Carnet between us, which I did.
At the Gare St. Lazare, Ray soon appeared and then we found the others, booked seats on the train, and then drank hot chocolate and called it breakfast.
I meant to file my nails on the train, but somehow I fell asleep instead.
At Dieppe, we found the s.s. "Worthing" waiting for us. I organised a porter to take Don's sack and one of my own on board. It was a splendid idea! On the boat, Joyce, George and I soon met and made our way to the restaurant, where we were given double helpings of everything for lunch. Don soon joined us; he said he knew where to find me on board. The sea wasn't perfectly calm, but wasn't nearly as bad as it had been in March. We sat on 2nd class floor and talked and dozed until Newhaven, where I found another porter to get the luggage aft.
I was soon through the customs and took my luggage to the platform for the Brighton train, and then sat in the boat train with the others until it was due to go out.
A taxi took me home from Brighton station and I then found mummy in bed; I was afraid my face might give her a shock, but she just told me to have a bath. I tried to tell that a bath would make no difference, but I was wrong, it made the world of difference, so that she didn't notice the few marks which were left. Ethel wanted to know why the sun on Mont Blanc should make me turn purple under the eyes and everyone in Nottingham wanted to know the same thing.