Ice on eBothy Blog

approaching winter fun

Mon, 01 Dec 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I’ve just upgraded the downstairs dept., which was showing its age. New boots and crampons, perchance a report once I get out and use them, which should be pretty soon as there is heavy snow forecast for most of this week up here. Can’t wat! I also had another look at my old climbing logbooks and realised Gardyloo Gully is actually a Grade II (the IV is for earlier in the season), which feels right, looking back on it. It was my first winter climb so no doubt I was overawed by the surroundings of the north face of Ben Nevis! Add in Observatory Gully (which I’d missed out) and that only leaves a couple of Grade Is to climb this winter and I can think of going for Winter ML assessment. Next winter though. This winter I want to get the navigation just right and maybe get a couple of nights snowholing. Not consecutive mind you. One night is bad enough, without having to simulate an assessment over two nights. I’m booked on the MLTA subsidised winter nav course at Glenmore Lodge next year, which should be good. The instructors there are top notch.

whither adventure

Mon, 28 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I used to like winters. I used to climb ice and snow. I used to revel in the wildness of spindrift avalanches on the north face of the Ben, which sucked the breath from my mouth and soaked my stinging face. Nearing the top of a steep climb, sheltered from the south westerly gale, sometimes the only sound was the dull plunk and scrape of the axe searching for purchase on iced rock. The sound of total concentration. I can still hear that sound and the muffled icy rattle of gear. When you’re not sure whether something’s plastic or metal, you give it a tap, see what sound it makes and you get a feel for the substance, it’s depth and quality. It’s the same in winter climbing. When your axe caresses rock and rivulets of powder flow from its pick you feel the huge solidity of the mountain. It reverberates down the shaft. You can suddenly imagine the other side of the mountain, storm lashed and steadfast, sheltering you from the maelstrom. Then your mind compresses back to the task in hand and you thwack into solid ice, pull up and restart the process with the other axe.