© J A D Healey 2014
"Can you get to the bus station by 6 o'clock?" asked Bob. "No I can't", I replied and on being asked how early I could get there, I replied that 6.05 was the earliest. It was 6.06 before I got there. I was in such a state, should I apologise or not. I needn't have worried, it was 6.20 before Bob turned up – why did I go without my tea!
Ernest was waiting at Derby bus station and went Uttoxeter way to Llangollen, where Bob and I voted for a meal. Soon we were on again. I was in the back and didn't try to keep awake and in wonderfully good time we were in the Llanberis Pass and turning in at Blaen Nant. We had guessed that that was where Diane and Stan were, and sure enough Stan had his car up to the campsite, with its headlights blinding us as we walked towards it.
It was a lovely night and we didn't bother with tents (Stan's party had three tents standing).
It was a lovely morning and Cyrn Las was suggested by Stan; I tried to talk Bob into Fallen Black Crack. The four of us started up the Cwm, but it was hot, the way was steep and eventually I agreed to Main Wall.
It was bone dry; it seemed a completely different climb from the one John had led, 2½ years ago. Fearing the worst, I had put on rubbers, but it'd have been easy in vibrams. The first pitch went well, although I seemed afraid of loose rock. Bob led, and Ernest brought up the rear. The next pitch went easily enough and then Bob was soon up the Gangway pitch. I think I remembered this from its slimy state last time, also the holds were on the left, and I hadn't full power in my left hand (shades of the Sustenhorn) – I still found it very difficult, but this time I considered it justifiable. I left a couple of runners on for Ernest, and he followed slowly up. The 90 ft pitch was still sensational, but of no great technical difficulty, until I got round the corner, when I suspected one of the holds. The slab above gave no difficulty, and we were up. It had been fun because Stan and Diane were on Central route at the same time and the two parties were able to photograph each other.
Ernest had been very full of his great Dolomite achievements the night before, and rather irritated me because he was assuming that no-one else had ever climbed a thing in the Alps. I know my tales of the Salbytschyn must have been as annoying as his Dolomite tales, for I was only taken up the Sudgrat, but he also gave no more credit to Bob and John who had led the thing.
Bob said that the vertical height of the difficult part of the Salbytschyn was 1,000 ft, but there was more like 2,000 ft of climbing, with the towers. Ernest's reply was that we took 7 hours to climb 1,000 ft. Why, in the Dolomites they climbed 1,000 ft in 2 hours; they learned to climb very quickly in the Dolomites. I'd try to counter by saying that there were grade Vs in the Sudgrat, to which Ernest would reply that there were grade Vs in their 1000 ft! – and so it went on.
On "Main Wall" we didn't notice much evidence of this rapid climbing, and at the top Ernest actually conceded that it was harder than anything he'd done in the Dolomites. This was my opportunity and I soon said that I could have led that climb (under those conditions), but I couldn't have led a single pitch on the Salbytschyn. For the first time Ernest had heard me and, in rather an awed voice, he asked me whether it was really like that for pitch after pitch. "Yes" I said, and, to press home my advantage I repeated our old boast "Seven hours of lay-backing". I'd said the wrong thing. "Oh, lay-backing, I could probably have done it then, if it had been lay-backing" and so Ernest got the last word after all!
After the 90 ft pitch, Don Whillans caught us up; he was taking Audrey up the climb and Bob was able to hurry across to Stan and watch them on the lat pitch. Don told me that 'The Grooves', the 'impossible' climb Joe had done with a peg, he had done without a peg and, according to Don Cowen, that peg was the only hold in sight!
Originally we had gone up the climb en route for the cliffs of Crib-y-Ddysgl, but now Bob was for joining Stan and Diane for a swim in the sea, so we all went down to our things (actually the climb would have gone this time with a pack, but I hadn't learned my lesson from the other time).
Back at camp I expected tea, but my request for "Harry sippers" brought me water, but they assured me I'd get tea at the seaside. Ernest wanted a meal, but the talked him out of that.
Ernest drove the five of us through Beddgelert to Tremadoc. I was pleasantly surprised at the cliffs there, they must be well worth a climbing weekend. Then to Portmadoc where I was to purchase a swimsuit (the first 'proper' one since I left mine at "Les Sopins" in 1939). The first two shops I tried, assured me that I'd never get one in the town, that they'd have sold hundreds if they'd been able to get the stock, but the third shop had them hanging outside the door – plain, old-fashioned, woollen ones. I rather fancied something more elaborate, but I was pleased to get one at all. The girl took me upstairs to try one on; she was so pleasant, and then I found out why. She also climbed, was a member of the North Wales Mountain Club, with Mr. Styles.
At the coast (Black Rock Sands), we changed in the car, and so to the sea. We took in Ernest's lilo and had fun on that. At first it was Stan's private couch and then we all tried to get on it. Bob enjoyed himself by swimming under water until he was beneath it and then coming up, upsetting it. We continued to play until a bung was lost, but someone swopped the one from the pillow into the main part, so that only the pillow deflated. This bathing business was fun at first, but it soon got dull. I hoped Bob would teach me the crawl, but I didn't get very far with it. And then to the sands for a few acrobatics and then to dress and go to the café for the long promised cup of tea.
Then back; I thought we'd call at the hut at Tremadoc for tea, but no, we went on to the Tanronin at Beddgelert. Bob asked about a meal, but they could only deal with their own residents, so we had sandwiches in the bar – all but Ernest, who had food back at the camp he was so eager to eat. We drank beer, and then, in a holiday mood, we had Dubonnet and sat and argued about Courage. Stan couldn't see my point of view that something good was implied by courage.
Back at the camp Bob organised an elaborate meal of all the parties ham, pork pies, cheese etc. – which was preceded by tea! We had turned in and were awakened at about midnight by that noisy motorbike; John had arrived after all and, in a moment, the suggested lazy day was off, and Cloggy was on.
Another lovely day, Stan and Diane had gone into the mountains to sleep and they weren't down by the time we left. Ernest drove us to Llanberis, from where we walked up singly to Mrs. Williams. After two cups of tea we walked to the crag, Ernest and I going round the path, Bob and John cutting down by the llyn. At East Buttress, I had a shouted conversation with them and we decided on West Buttress, so I made for the beginning of Bow-shaped, giving Bob and John a rope down for the first pitch of Longlands, when they appeared at the bottom.
John started on Bow-shaped and was a little disconcerted at the sight of the pitch to be lassoed. He couldn't find a belay at first, but once he had that and found it was quite high up, it seemed to simplify matters. I moved up to the belay and, at about the sixth attempt, the rope lodged around the spike, and was tied onto my belay and, as I paid out John's lifeline, he traversed the slabby groove, feet on the rock and hands on the rope.
It would have meant untying the fixed rope if I was to have a lifeline held, so I asked Bob if he'd give me a lifeline, and he threw up his rope to me. I found the crossing much easier than I'd expected and was soon across, asking Bob to remove the fixed rope. He couldn't flick it off, so had to climb up to it, by which time he'd decided that as he'd come so far (about 10 ft), he might as well finish the climb. Ernest offered to let him come with John and me (Ernest had been given the impression it wasn't for him), but we couldn't leave Ernest, so he was brought up, but then Bob thought better of it, and flicked our rope off eventually. He and Ernest retreating to East Buttress. John and I were then all set for Bow-shaped, just John's type, the thing was in the bag.
On the next pitch, John soon disappeared from sight, and then the rope ceased to run out. It was Ernest's rope, and there was a green mark in front of me, it would go out a few inches and then come back – it was Derek on René all over again, and yet I knew that John wouldn't consciously take a risk. I could hear him and he'd tell me at intervals what he was doing, the same sensible John, and yet, as I watched that rope, I was terrified. Then it ran out 3 ft, but this time it wasn't a reckless move being made, it was John putting on a runner above him and yet he still couldn't make it go and came back and suggested I looked. I knew it was more John's line of country than mine, so I didn't go forward confidently, didn't get nearly as high as John, and was soon back, for John to try another line, up at the corner, and then into the crack at a higher level. This time the rope needed to be paid out steadily the whole time, which wasn't nearly so worrying and then, when nearly all the slack was gone, it was my turn.
I don't know why, but I found the first move up, right at the bottom, the most difficult, but the next few yards were far from easy, in fact I found that most expressive word I'd just learned from Stan, going round and round in my mind. The word was "squitters". After the runner, it got progressively easier; all the same I congratulated him when I joined him on Narrow Slab. John was looking up at White Slab and saying that Narrow Slab looked a good climb! I disillusioned him. The next pitch was easy, along the foot of the Narrow Slab, to the stance on Great Slab, and then up 80 ft on Great Slab. "You've gone too high" I said as I came to follow, and found that John had passed the stance I'd always used, but as I joined John, I realised that his was the correct stance, that the traverse where the loose sod used to be is too low!
Now John was on the crux. He moved up, felt the holds for the traverse and then came back. "Can't you get a runner above you" I said and John put one on, but I had no confidence in it, until I was able to inspect it and found it first rate. John took his camera out of his pocket and once more attacked the traverse. This time he made the step across, but still didn't look altogether happy. "A foot down with your right foot" I suggested and John was already trying this, and another couple of moves and he was across and putting on a runner to safeguard the rest of the pitch. I couldn't begrudge John the runners, but at the same time, it'd mean that I'd have no more protections than he'd had for the pitch. When it was my turn I knotted my anorak tightly around my waist and stuffed the cameras, guidebook etc. down my back, changed my purse from my right to my left pocket, and felt the holds. I decided to leave on the runner above and to the right, for that would give me the most protection for the most difficult part. I felt the holds and retreated. I know I'd have to go all out on it and thought I'd better assure myself that I couldn't do the other alternative, then I couldn't be half-hearted in my next attempt. I couldn't start the traverse for this alternative, so went back to John's way. I got to the crucial move, hesitated, but realised that my hands were tiring and would be even more tired if I went back, so I went on, the step across 'went' as also the step down. "You'll have to flick off the runner now" said John, but I had to traverse several more feet before I was really in balance and able to do that. And so up to John, who amazed me by saying that I had taken 15 minutes to his 30. If he'd asked me, I'd have said that it had taken me far longer to follow than it had taken him to lead.
We were both rather pleased that the crux was behind us, I tied onto John's belay, an improbable looking spike, part of the 'living' rock, then John put a line sling round a little noggings to give me a second belay (it wasn't the first stance where I'd had two belays – it was that sort of climb) and then he started up.
John started up the crack, put on a runner, traversed to the right, got on another runner, before traversing back to the left. Although obviously every move required care, we were both rather relaxed after the crux; I was paying out the rope quite conscientiously, but wasn't really concentrating on John. It's amusing to think back on my thoughts during the next few moments. "It's funny for John to get into such a spread-eagled position, he doesn't usually climb like that …This might be serious, he's off, but of course John will save himself before it's developed into a real fall. He hasn't" ..That all went through my mind before any slack rope started to form, for next I was giving myself orders. "Take in the slack you fool – what do you think you're here for …!" I did a little frantic hauling at the rope, but I was fighting a losing battle. John was gaining speed so rapidly in a moment he'd be on the rope. "Better stop now and hang on ready to stand the strain". It seemed to me I stood there for an eternity, I could have taken in quite another couple of yards, if I hadn't panicked. Then I felt myself moving gently upwards. I suppose you'll go on up to unclimbable rock, and John over the edge is probably unconscious and hanging free. Then I stopped only about a yard above my old stance, and with the belays hardly off and then there was John's voice from over the edge asking me if I was alright, and he started to climb up. I felt that the situation could have been worse, but wondered how many broken limbs John would have. I determined to do a Pete Knapp and wait for Bob to rescue us. John appeared pale, but with no real damage done and he didn't come down to me, but proceeded to climb up and lead the pitch straight away. He took the sling off the first runner and used it to reinforce the one which had saved him, then he went on and inspected the hold which had been his undoing and then led slowly up and over to the skyline.
Obviously I was more shaken than he was. The first part was easy enough and so up to the runner, and then I had to use that treacherous foothold. I could quite see why John had become careless, on the whole. Although there were finger-holds, there wasn't much more than the roughness of the rock for the feet, and then there was this large hold, incut, quite an inch deep and about 6 inches long and John had put both his foot and weight on it at the same time. The next part I found rather thin. I had been chatting to John, but I had to stop in mid sentence – it was a sort of semi-layback move – and so up to his top runner and then to join him on the edge. We could both relax by this time, in fact I could even thank him for the interesting experience! The next two pitches required care, of course, but were of a far easier standard. Time was getting on and there was a shout from below, so we hurried down Eastern Terrace to our boots and then John joined the others at the lake, while I went round my path. Apparently the others had tried Chimney Route, but retreated from rickety innards. "If you and John can't lead it there's no-one in the club who can" said Ernest, which shows what he thinks of my boast to be able to do it!
We had tea at Mrs. Williams, and then as quickly as possible to Llanberis and the drive back to Blaen Nant which we reached at 7.30. I persuaded Ernest that with two drivers we'd be able to eat en route, which would save the time of a meal before we left. We left at 8 o'clock; I sat in the back, made sardine sandwiches, and divided out the tins of juice and condensed milk, while Bob ate and Ernest drove beyond the Bettws bends. Then Bob took the wheel while Ernest ate.
At Llangollen we stopped for a cup of tea and fruit pie, and reached Derby at 12.30. More tea for Bob and me before catching the 1.15, and then I had a taxi home.
Stan Coates and I met Arthur in Sherwood Street at 6.30, and this time we proceeded via Manchester to the Lakes. I was in the front, so tried my hardest to keep awake, but it was difficult at times. We had two stops, firstly for beer and then for chips, and so to Windermere, and on to Langdale to park at Middlefell Farm. We walked a mile up Michelden to the campsite where Alan was already pitched, met Bob going back for his gear which Arthur had carried (Keith had had his on his back) and I got into my bag and had a night à la belle étoile.
I put up my tent just in case and was very surprised when it started to drizzle on the way to Gimmer – we went straight up and at the dividing of the ways Jim asked if anyone else was for Ash Tree Slabs. That suited me, but Arthur and Stan came as well, Evelyn, Ron and Eddie going the other way to Main Wall. I started to climb; I amazed myself, obviously the Bow-shaped incident was having repercussions, for I put three runners on that first pitch! – and I was in vibrams and the number of times I have led it in nails! – but that was before I'd developed the runner technique! Arthur followed with difficulty and then Jim led it well, rather appalled, I should imagine to find half way up that Stan had never been told how to pay out a rope! We foregathered at the top of the climb and tried to think what to do next – I had an inspiration – "Let's do 'B' route" I said. It's 12 years since I last tried to do Amen Corner, since then I've had no intention of doing it, my role has always been to take the rope round the "neat bit" for others to try the corner (always unsuccessfully!). Now I was actually saying that, if someone would lead it, I'd like to try it! Arthur volunteered to lead it, so we set off and Arthur led up to the foot. There was no mistaking the corner, with the well painted street name plate! Arthur tried it, but soon gave up, as also did Jim; then they put on a runner and foot loop and tried again, and I tried using these aids but got no distance. Bob had taken Alan shopping in Chapel Style and they and Keith had come up later, up Ash Tree Slabs and round to the Corner. Bob retreated from the Corner in nails, but got up quite quickly in rubbers. However, I didn't altogether like his method; he didn't use the lay-back technique I suggested and it looked a bit of a strain. Once up, he started to walk up the Gangway, so I called him back to belay above the Corner. Keith then followed up, making considerable use of Alan's shoulder, and then all the others tried to follow. None of them could get up and Alan and Arthur went off to do 'A' route, while the rest were trying. I hadn't had a go. I had to at least try, after suggesting the climb in the first place! I made the first move up, had my right hand on the knob and realised that I needed my left hand on it. What a struggle I had to change them, and I was afraid my wrists were worn out by the time I had managed that. From my memories of twelve years ago, I faced left and lay-backed. I got the right hand on a good hold, and then the edge got shallower, but higher up it was good again, and I got my feet up onto one good ledge after another, and then I was able to stand on my feet, and get my hands right over. I remember last time, through trying to do this party 'nicely', I'd had to have a hand over, so this time I 'swam over'. This was all Bob saw, and after that, he wouldn't believe that my method was better than his. I didn't blame him for not appreciating my boasting. After all he had led it.
I tied on to the end of Bob and Keith, and Jim and Stan went up 'A' route to Lyons Crawl.
At the top Bob stretched out as though to have his mid-day nap. I tried to talk him into the descent of 'A' route, but he didn't bite; however, he did agree to the descent of Oliversons. We all gathered in the Crow's Nest and then I found that Ron, Evelyn and Eddie were on their way up, also Jim was at the top of Forty Foot Corner, with Stan stuck at the foot, so, just to complicate matters, I went down to the stance at the top of Forty Foot Corner; I was told to do something about Stan, so I told Bob to take off Arthur's rubbers, put them on a crab and send them down the rope, and I untied and they were lowered down to Stan and his boots and sac hauled up. Bob took a dim view of all this, but we explained that he'd have to wait in the Crow's Nest until the others were up, when Bob could have the rubbers back again. Eventually the climb was clear below the Corner and I descended with my usual difficulty and brought Keith down with a rope through a sling at the top. Then Bob descended, he took a dim view of the two runners left on for his protection (I admit that the lower one was a little more complicated).
Then we got down the lower pitch as soon as possible, for other parties were coming up.
Bob had had enough of these tame climbs by now and suggested tea at the D.G. – I agreed, for it didn't look as though we'd get round to the climbs we wanted to do. I reminded Bob that he'd left his boots on top, so he next soloed to Oliversons (after all the trouble I'd taken to safeguard him with runners!). I went down to fetch my sac and Bob's runners, came back and found Stan and Jim starting up Chimney route and I offered Bob's rubbers to Stan. I refused an offer to do the climb, but Arthur tied on, and Alan came down for tea. The two Sherpas were on the next table, but I didn't recognise the man with them. They seemed more anglicised than when we'd seen them in Wales. They had rather a dull tea party, but came to life afterwards, playing with some children. We got through a large dish of rum butter, and enjoyed our tea, but I rather regretted losing good climbing hours through it. All but Bob were keen to go up to Raven Crag, so I suggested Revelation, which Bob read up and thought possibly it was not beneath his standard, so he came up. He took a dim view when he found that I had given his rubbers to Stan; fortunately Keith, who was in vibrams, lent his rubbers to Bob. Alan and Keith went off for the original route, while Bob led up Revelation. I found it distinctly strenuous for the fingers, in fact, on the second pitch I found I had as little in hand as I'd had on Amen Corner! We didn't bother with the last pitch, but came down, met the others and so down to the old D.G.
Bob soon tired of the bar, and suggested going to Chapel Style for a quieter bar. Alan had gone back to Gimmer to fetch his rubbers, so I said I'd walk on, and as soon as I'd started I thought of the new D.G. as an alternative, so I waited there for Bob and Keith on the bike.
Cyril Bullman came round the bar, chatting to everyone in turn, but Bob soon tired of this and suggested returning to camp and food. The camp was deserted, we had obviously missed the others, going to a pub.
Bob prepared a cold meal for us all, which I ate, and then Bob went to bed while I returned the mile to the D.G., but couldn't see the others, so concluded they'd gone to the 'New'. They arrived back in camp soon after me, so I went first to Arthur and then to Evelyn and Ron's tent. "I want a sociable tent" I said. We chatted for a while, and then we went to bed.
It was a showery day and we spent the whole of the morning in Ed's tent, drinking coffee, and then having a fruit salad. We were surprised to have a visit from Chris Waters over from Sunderland for the day. It was a shame really to waste the day. If we'd been staying under a roof, it would never have occurred to us not to go out. Mid-day we sat in the open and ate, and then took a long time to pack.
In the end it was about 5 o'clock before we got away, and didn't get back until midnight, i.e. we neither had a day out, nor an early night. Arthur gave Ron a lift to Windermere. Eddie with Evelyn and Jim was considerably faster, but we met at Gargrave at the "The Grouse". I don't know that it has a great deal to recommend it, but it was the only pub I could think of, off hand, and we arranged to meet Bob there, but he didn't turn up – actually he'd left before we arrived. At Skipton we got a cup of tea and lost the other car. Then we went the Huddersfield way. It was my suggestion and, with the aid of the ¼ inch map, I directed Arthur well, as far as Sheffield. Arthur said he knew the way from there and got lost in Mansfield.
What luxury to catch the 8 o'clock – plenty of time for tea and last minute packing. In an hour the train was at Grantham. I crossed the bridge and found the Fort William train already in. I thought I might as well catch it, as it might go straight through to Glasgow, but I was sorry to miss the cup of tea I'd promised myself. I went up the front, but I could only get one seat; however, at Newcastle or some such place, the carriage practically emptied and I was able to stretch out until Edinburgh where I found I was at that ghastly place "All Change".
A cup of tea from a trolley, a study of the map of Edinburgh and then the 4.30 to Glasgow where Alan and I arrived at just about the same moment. How pleasant to be met with a car, drive to Bearsden when breakfast was waiting and then at 6.30 we were off again, on the road to the highlands.
Fairly soon we picked up two hitch-hikers, on their way to Glencoe for "mapping". "Are you practicing for the Monte Carlo Rally?" was a comment soon made about the driving, but they hastened to assure Alan that they didn't object to it – not even when there was a slight skid – Alan had been relying on the car cornering better with a full load.
Before 8 o'clock we reached the turning into Black Rock where Ernest was already parked. Ernest was outside in his bag. Bob, John Eaton and Dick Pawsey were in the car. Alan explained that he didn't know whether there was room for us in the hut, and drove up to find out. The Dumfries mountaineers said that they were moving on to Steall, so we moved in.
Alan and I left the others to their breakfast, and we set out for the Chasm, Alan driving to the nearest point and half an hour's walk took us to the start and we roped up. The first part went more easily than I'd expected, as Alan had been told, it wasn't too bad for vibrams. It was mostly a case of walking up the fairly level scree, but occasionally there'd be a little pitch, which we'd climb one at a time. Our first set-back was at the 5th pitch, the Red Wall. Alan was soon down to change into socks and even then he didn't like it, he couldn't seem to get out onto the face, so I tried it and found shorter legs an advantage. With a rope above, Alan was soon up and leading on.
There was nothing really serous, but one pitch I found most strenuous to the fingers, for I didn't like to trust my vibrams on it. We went steadily up until the 9th pitch, which looked too formidable for words. Bob and John had caught us up and Bob started to lead up it, so we tied our rope onto John's, but from the time Bob took over, we realised that it must present serious difficulties, so we untied the rope again, and Alan led up the gully to our right, up onto broken ground and Ernest and Dick followed us. We went up a little higher and then down into the chasm again, watching Bob and John finishing their pitch (and telling them they'd missed the way).
We were all soaked by now, some of the pitches had involved climbing under waterfalls, but, more important, the weather had steadily deteriorated (instead of improving – as I had banked on) and it was pouring by now. I was the first to suggest turning back. Alan quoted to me that, after the 'feast of lanterns' meet, I had said we ought to make the Polaris a serious mountaineering club!
We traversed to the south and then soon got down to the cars, and so back to 'Black Rock' and dry clothes. We were back at about 4 o'clock and had tea, but we were still hungry, and about 6 o'clock tackled the stew which Bob had prepared, after soup in bowls or plates, according to taste, and followed by fruit.
Later we went to Kingshouse, but found the bar rather bare and lacking in seats. Besides the locals, were one or two climbers and one of these joined us when we got on to 'Cloggy'.
The weather was a little improved, but I wasn't in a hurry to get up, for the rain in the night had sounded so badly on the roof, but with day-break, the showers became shorter, and eventually we got up and breakfast was soon over. Once more Alan and I set off first; for a moment the Buachaille looked superb, with the morning sunlight showing up the buttresses, but the sun had gone before we could get out our cameras. We had discussed the Rannoch Wall, but with the uncertain weather Alan agreed to do the Quiver again and we set out for Aonach Dubh.
Alan hoped for a bridge over the Coe below the last glen. When it didn't materialise we waded across, thus wetting our socks, the only dry things we had been wearing. Alan had put on his nailed boots, but I was still in vibrams, and I had a desperate time, with the rubber slipping on the slimy stones until Alan came to the rescue – the force of the river didn't help things.
I followed Alan slowly, in the distance as he walked up the Corrie to the east of Aonach Dubh, and so to the Lower Bowstring, where we roped up. Alan was determined to show how wrong Murray was with his distances, and made long lead-outs of the climb. We were wet and cold, and in need of good holds, but this climb certainly produced them. After a couple of pitches we walked to the foot of the Quiver and this produced one pitch of quite steep rock, but, even in its wet condition, it presented no difficulty. At the top we waited for a short chat with Bob, but as it was cold waiting, we left him to await Ernest.
We went on to the top of the ridge and followed it to the summit of Stob Corie nan Lochan. It was interesting to see the little lochans at the head of the glen (the name had always puzzled me) and it was quite a grand view out towards the sea. The rain had stopped and the fierce wind on the ridge began to dry us out.
At the summit we again waited for Bob and left him to await Ernest. We cut down to the last glen and descended that, the campsite at the end had shrunk and the way over the boulders wasn't nearly so fierce without packs, and then at the bottom all was simple with the conspicuous white sign-post pointing to the bridge over the Coe. I said that the sign-post wasn't needed, that the news of the bridge had already got around the grapevine – later we found that it hadn't reached Bob, who had ignored the sign and had crossed the river as we did in the good old days of 1949.
All we had left at the hut was soup and sausages, and Alan and I had a meal of these, chatted with the others when at last they arrived and, at about 6.30, we left, Alan noting the wet roads (it was raining again) and driving about 10 m.p.h. slower, getting no comments from the two hitch hikers he picked up this time. We asked them where they'd been and they said they didn't know how to pronounce it – said with the most wonderful Scottish accents too, as though we'd be able to correct them.
Alan seemed surprised not to skid on the west Glaswegian cobbles and once more we went to the wrong station. Thinking that Central was closed on a Sunday, we went to Queen Street, only to find that Central was open until October (or vice versa). I got Alan to take me to Central, so that I caught the 9.05, and glad I was too, for I think the 9.25 missed the connection at Carlisle. The 12.37 at Carlisle was fairly crowded, but at 2 o'clock I was able to commandeer a couple of seats and had quite a good rest, and felt fine all the next day.
Alan picked me up at about 7 o'clock, apparently he had called for Bob and had to help him finish his packing. We went along Forest Road and Jim made our fourth. We had the usual two stops – quite long ones, and arrived at Glan Dena at about 1 o'clock. Fortunately for us the front door wasn't bolted and we were able to get in, for we hadn't a key.
We got up at about 8 o'clock and, after breakfasting, drove round to Pont-y-Cromlech and started up into Cwm Glas. We lost Bob, he was further to the right. I kept further to the left up an easier line, forcing myself at times further to the right, but, when we got into the mist, I felt that we were still too far left. We continued up, knew we should be near the rocks and turned right to be sure not to miss the rocks (also Bob's voice came from that direction). We crossed a minor ridge or so and eventually reached a familiar ridge, obviously the one above the railway and, having reached this, we continued up it. It was so cold that I had rather lost interest in rock climbing (we'd had our share of that in the Crypt on Friday night, when there was hardly a route on Cloggy which hadn't yielded). Up to the top of Crib-y-Ddysgl where we halted and ate – I left half a Penguin on the cairn, thinking that if Bob appeared he'd know we'd been there. We went on to the summit – rather crowded, miserable, and then back to Crib-y-Ddysgl, where the Penguin was untouched. We decided to descend the Parson's Nose and had just started down when Bob shouted; he was on his way to Crib Goch and after a halt and chat we went his way.
Poor Bob, he seemed out of tune this weekend, again and again we'd find that we were 3 to 1 against him, but of course this morning it had been Bob who had reached the foot of Rectory Chimney, our suggested climb. The wind was invigorating along Crib Goch, but wasn't as bitingly cold as it had been on Crib-y-Ddysgl – the sleet had seemed almost unendurable to me. I felt that I must have gone soft, during the summer.
I climbed the Crazy Pinnacle for the first time for years. From the end we descended the North Ridge, down to the car, and so back to Glan Dena, in very good time, despite the improvement in the weather.
Tea, and then a meal, a combined effort, soup, chops, potatoes, boiled tomatoes, followed by fruit salad and cream. It was about 6 o'clock and I think that we remembered the last time Rvo had gone to Wales, everyone said, "Let's go to the pictures in Bangor" (we'd been discussing it all day).
Alan soon had us to Bangor, we drove through the main part, and they said that we couldn't possibly see the films in the first two cinemas, but in the third, "The Siege at Red River" seemed to please the experts. There was a queue outside and so we spent the time in "The Ship" until the end of the programme, and then got into the balcony.
The first film was "The Attic" – a very old one and rather a horrific one; after seeing a girl murdered in her bedroom I began to think "They needn't think I'm going to sleep alone in the women's part", but the next film made me forget it, there was excitement and scenery, a pretty girl and brave men, and passed the time very well. That well-known 'Western' expert, Alan, said that it was a dead loss as a western, not enough Indians and not enough shooting. My chief complaint was that I didn't know enough about American history – and didn't appreciate the finer points about the civil war.
Alan was first up and brought round the tea to the stay-abeds.
Eventually we decided on the East Face of Tryfan. It was quite a brilliant morning, but a bitterly cold wind was blowing from the other direction. We ascended to Heather Terrace and so to the foot of Gashed Crag. Bob and Alan started up first, and then Jim and I led through. I always get a feeling of satisfaction from doing this in nails. Jim led the first pitch; I had the first chimney and Jim the last one. Jim led 'Faith and Friction' – we both climbed it round on the left – the slab itself seemed impossible for nails.
It had been lovely and summery and warm, on this, the sheltered side of Tryfan, but about half way up we saw the clouds coming lower and it was snowing by the time we reached the top of the climb. We didn't bother with the mountain summit, ran down South Ridge, and so back to Heather Terrace and on to Glan Dena, about 3 p.m. It had been a peculiar weekend, from 12 o'clock Saturday to 12 o'clock Sunday, it had been fine, and even sunny, but bitterly cold the whole time.
We pooled our resources, after soup we had cold meats etc. with bread and butter, and followed up with fruit salad again, and we left at about 4 o'clock, thinking that we might as well get home in reasonable time.
Jim shared the driving to Shrewsbury; he learned at his first corner that the car doesn't corner well, but after that all was well – although, as Alan said, he proved one of those drivers who caused Bob to backseat drive.
We spent our time in Shrewsbury looking for a 'better' café – we called in the milk bar for soup. This was alright, but we didn't like the place. Then we went back to the old place for tea and fruit pies. And so back to Nottingham without another stop.
I caught the eight minutes to midnight on the Friday night. I could only get a centre seat, but people gradually got out. At Sheffield I was able to curl up on a couple of seats, and from Skipton had a side to myself and was having a lovely sleep when the train stopped and woke me. I looked at my watch, saw it was 5 o'clock and knew we must be at Carlisle. I collected my things and tumbled out. I didn't make the best of my time, after a cup of tea, I found that the Penrith train was in, so I boarded it – it was a long time before I felt warm again.
It was an interesting ride to Penrith, it was just getting light on a bright morning and I thought that the thick white frost must augur well for the good day I was expecting. It was a shorter wait at Penrith and then I had the thrill of seeing the lovely new diesel electric run into the station and out again; eventually it returned to my platform and I found it was for Keswick. It seemed to change gears like a car, and I found the run on parts of the single track line quite exciting. I looked out for the old familiar friends, such as Blencathra, and then arrived at Keswick.
I was looking forward to doing the thing properly this weekend and walked boldly into the Royal Oak, but my reception wasn't quite what I'd hoped. He looked on his list and sounded a little surprised that I was booked in, as I said, but he told me that my room, 16, was occupied, that I couldn't go in until 12 o'clock – so much for leaving my dress hanging up all day, I thought.
I sat down to wait for 8.30 the scheduled breakfast hour and who should appear but Ray Colledge, the M.A.M. representative. Now it's nice to find there are people one knows, but why did it have to be Ray? When he heard about my journey, he said that it was a pity he hadn't know, for he could have given me a lift from Manchester. I was thinking "Don't offer me a lift back", and he didn't! I don't know why I was to think I could get a better lift!
We went into breakfast together – a good meal, but I happened to knock over the grapefruit juice next to me.
Next I took my sack into a bathroom and changed, and packed my little bag for taking out, and so down to the entrance hall to leave my big sack to be taken up to my room at 12 o'clock and I started to put on my boots.
An agitated little man came over to me, was I Miss Gregory, for if so he'd been looking everywhere for me. It turned out to be Alan Hargreaves, who had been delegated to see that the guests were fixed up for climbing. He introduced me to Peter Moffat, a young lad. Soon someone came up to him and asked him how the Scafell guide book was getting on, so I thought I'd be alright if I was with Arthur Dolphin's successor. Eventually all was ready and we drove up Borrowdale, Colledge, Peter etc. went in Mr. Wharldall's Land Rover (he was the Y.R.C. representative) while Alan took me in his Citroen, together with Tony Mowlam and his fiancée, Pauline.
There was another long halt at Salving House, and then on foot up to Goat Crag. Apparently Tony had done quite a good climb there – Lobstone Buttress I believe, and he was anxious to see what else it had to offer. It was a showery day by this time. We stopped to explore a mine on the way, but eventually reached the rocks, and Tony started up a 'diff'. He came to a place where the only holds seemed on a block of doubtful stability and, after a little while he decided to retreat, for the rock was slimy and the day cold. Having been repulsed by a diff, he looked at a moderate, Upper Central Buttress. There was some rock at the bottom, but then it was mostly heather, until Alan and I came up to Tony on more rock. He had on two runners, but said he didn't like it and retreated, easily getting round the difficulty. Next Alan looked at it; he was about 12 ft up, on steep rock, and next moment he was down on the ground and rolling down the heather (a hand-hold had come away). I wasn't belayed, so I tried to brace myself to take the shock when it came, but fortunately he stopped when he had gone about another 12 ft and no damage had been done. I think another few incidents and I shall refuse to play the part of second! Alan then followed Tony round that pitch, but told me to climb it. I found it difficult – about the place Alan had come off, I had to use another doubtful handhold and then it was slimy and awkward at the spot where Tony had turned back, but I made it eventually. There were one or two more moves on rock higher up the climb, but nothing of note, in fact the scramble back, down the gully was of more interest. Back at the sacks we had a belated lunch and then ran down to Salving House where cups of tea soon materialised.
Alan seemed conscience-stricken that I hadn't been given a climb and suggested the Bowder Stone Pinnacle, which they knew to be a satisfactory route and we drove down the valley to it. Pauline decided to stay in the car, while the rest of us walked up to it. It was raining quite hard by now, and I knew quite well that the others were only coming to give me a climb, and I felt that the only thing for me to do was to tell them not to bother, that I didn't want to climb, but I couldn't get myself to do it, I was so desperately keen to climb. Near the top of the climb, I suddenly realised that I had done it before, that New Year with Douglas. Fortunately I had the tact not to mention this! I enjoyed the climb. In boots the moves needed working out, but all too soon we were at the top.
Alan was the first away, trying an awkward crack. He warned me that he'd use the rope and he did twice. After this Tony and I thought we'd rappel, but this wasn't such fun in the rain with Alan's wretched hemp rope. At the bottom of the pitch Alan went on prospecting the way, while Tony and I coiled the ghastly rope. When it was done, Alan said we could throw it down, which I did. All went well at first, but then we came to a part made awkward with the moss and general damp conditions and we regretted that the rope had gone, but we weren't without resources and put our five slings together and made a rope of them, the karabiners made grand handholds in the rope. We ascended the Bowder Stone, and so back to the car. Not the least memorable moment of the weekend was standing in the rain outside the car and drinking the sherry Alan gave me – even without the sherry I had felt exhilarated! I think the thought of a bath and the chance of drying my clothes made all the difference.
Back at the Royal Oak I decided to cut tea and save my appetite for dinner.
I had a bath and changed into my dark red 'cocktail' dress and at about 7.30 came down. The first woman I met was in a jumper and skirt, and for a moment I thought I must be overdressed, but downstairs I realised that anything would do. I never met the official party in the bar, I was always sidetracked; firstly by the Karabiner girl I meet at Pinnacle do's then by Mike Westmacott. I shook them both off and started to make my way up the room when I was told that Mrs. Bryon was looking for me. I wanted to speak to her as she is the President of the Pinnacle Club and I felt I must thank her for my invitation, instead of my thanking her, she said she'd get me a drink, and she fought her way up to the bar. Soon after this people started making their way to the dining room, and I was advised to start my journey early. I found Mr. Boothroyd next to me, he asked me if I wanted to sit down, and I said 'no', to which he replied that he would, so I sat down to keep him company. We had to get up again to let other people pass, and the Chairman and Guest of Honour stopped just by us. I could feel Evans looking at me as though he knew me and I was trying to force myself to ask him for a lift the next day (Alan had told me that he'd be able to give me a lift to Carlisle), but needless to say I couldn't bring myself to speak.
Then the dinner started – it was very pleasant, I enjoyed the food and the company. Mr. Boothroyd turned out to be an 83 year old, but was most interesting. On my right was John Jackson the other guest of honour, from the Kanchenjunga expedition. Opposite me was John's brother, Ron.
At 9 o'clock we drank to absent friends and then those from the small dining room came in for the speeches. Charles Evans was the first, proposing the toast of the club. He amused me with his tale of his lecture tour in the States – when a maid in a N.Y. hotel went up to Ed and said "Lord Hillary, I simply must shake you by the hand". Ed thought he'd better not leave Charles out, so introduced him – only to be asked "Who's he, is he your son?"
He finished with his tale of the ty bach – a suitable speech and not too long.
Harry Spilsburg replied, with a similar speech – he is vice president and carrying on while the president, Howard Somerville, is in India.
The next speech was by Alf Gregory for the toast 'to the guests' – a ghastly moment when he came to me, but he let me off quite lightly. "I don't need to introduce Eileen Gregory to you, you know her already, you meet her in your huts" (he rather struck home here). Then he went on to say that I was a bit of a rock-climber, his words were most complimentary, but they were said in rather too awed a voice, so that they could be taken for sarcasm!
The next part I remember was that of Ray Colledge, representing the M.A.M. Now it's a pity about Ray, he's such a nice person really, but … it's all right Ray I haven't time to tell the tales I know about you". He went on to say that there were all sorts of stories about him in the Himalayas. One was that he'd slept with a rat one night! Greg's speech was brief and to the point, and then Carr replied, chiefly making up tales about Charles Evans.
Between the speeches there had been songs by John Hurst and Lawson Cooke (they rather missed Harry Spilsburg's voice, I felt). The first was made up in honour of the Kanchenjunga expedition.
Then it was over, and we made for the lounge, but I stayed chatting in the bar (not drinking!). I was talking to John Jackson's wife, Eileen. She told me all about her journey to India with the expedition. When she heard about the bus I hadn't looked up, she reiterated Hargreaves' words that Charles would take me – I felt that I was to have that lift! – and she went one better, and asked Charles, who said yes, provided I was ready by 5.30.
I went to bed before most, but that was a silly thing to do, for I was too excited to sleep.
I was down to breakfast in good time, and had it with Mr. Ferguson of the Rucksack Club. It was a perfect morning and I soon had my luggage organised, and was putting on my boots in the hall. Here I met Mike Westmacott who introduced me to Mary Glyn – he was her guest at the dinner. I think he thought we two microbiologists ought to want to get together, but as Mary is a D.Sc., I kept clear of that subject.
Mike insisted that Mary had a lift up the valley in Charles' car; I don't know why, but Mary seemed embarrassed about this, thought she was taking someone else's place and she seemed to ease her conscience by insisting that I went as well – I was only too pleased, although it upset Hargreaves plans I believe.
There was the usual stop at Salving House, but then we went on again to Seathwaite, and parked the car among a long line of them.
Hargreaves was still running around trying to collect his guests, but we set off for Gillercombe Buttress, up Sour Milk Ghyll. I was with Charles and Mike, and was looking forward to climbing with them, but at the foot of the rocks, Alan organised things differently. He tied himself onto their rope, and told Ron Millar to take me – Ron asked me if I wanted to do the Buttress and I said yes, wanting to follow my Everest heroes, I suppose, but now I regret I didn't ask for something harder. There was quite a delay while the first party got clear of the first pitch and then Ron and I followed, with Ray tying on behind me. Half way up I noticed that he was sitting with his head in his hands. I wondered whether this was because of what Greg had said, but Ray seemed to say he had a hangover!
I started up in nails, enjoyed it, working out the moves. I told Ron I'd be quicker in rubbers, but Ron thought there'd be plenty of time, following the rope of three.
There were numerous longish halts on large ledges, but it was just the day for standing and looking. My only regret was that I wasn't on a harder climb, for I felt on form.
I remember using a knee on the traverse left. Fortunately I had left Ray out of sight to do two pitches in one, so I hope I wasn't seen. Higher up we came to the crux; Ron seemed to say that all the holds were rounded and said that Alan had gone up entirely on his knees, and, when I wondered whether I ought to change into rubbers he thought it a good idea, so I did so. I was sorry not to finish the climb in boots (it would have gone easily), but it was sheer delight to crawl up those warm dry rocks in the hot sunshine.
Too soon we were up and the party separating. Ron wanted to go to the right to look for Peter; Ray wanted to go down the easiest way (to the left) and I wanted to go to the summit, from where I got a view over Derwentwater. I was amazed to find half an inch of ice in the pools of water up there, it had been so warm on the climb that I quite forgot about the cold wind. Back at the sacks we sat and ate, then the first rope re-appeared having done 'Gabbro', another little climb, and then Charles thought it time he set off down, and I thought I'd better go the same time, to have a bath and get tea, before the film show (Charles had impressed upon me that he'd be leaving immediately afterwards).
Some typical climbers driving, and we reached the Royal Oak at exactly 3 o'clock, having picked up John and Eileen at Seathwaite. Tea wasn't until 3.30, so we changed first and fortunately I got my sac downstairs by the time Charles wanted to pack it, and then John, Eileen and I just got in our tea before the film show. The films lasted just an hour. Charles had cut out the middle film, as he didn't think there'd be time for it. The story began on the ship. Eileen was interested to see herself on this. Charles had left the part with Joe Brown the right way round, it shows Joe doing a hand traverse above the swimming pool and then dropping into the water, apparently it is Charles' ambition to show it the wrong way round, to show the waters parting, and Joe rising up to grasp the beam! After the arrival in India, there were some good shots of the drive along a Les Haudère type of road, and so on right into the foothills. The second film was taken on the mountain, but a lot of it was in bad weather and it didn't get really high and, despite Charles' adequate commentary, it was a little disappointing.
Charles was off as soon as he could get away. We were all sitting in the Vanguard, ready to start, when Charles found no-one had any matches. I remembered I had a box in the top of my pack – emergency camping supplies – it's not often I can help the smokers out.
In the dark Charles' driving was quite reasonable. In fact on the perfectly straight road near Carlisle he barely got up to 60 m.p.h.
Charles takes no chances. He went round the Fell and Rock until he found a pilot, Charley Wilson and he directed us the quickest way there and to the theatre, where we arrived at 6.30. They found that there was no-one delegated to introduce the speakers, so Charley volunteered to do it. Next we left the theatre to find the speakers' hotel. Charles directed them to the County, as the most likely, but they found they weren't expected, so Charles got out a filing cabinet, handfuls of letters from his case, and went through all his pockets, but he couldn't find the necessary letter (and I thought he was such an exact sort of a person!). Finally he rang up the other likely hotels and, at about the third attempt, found that they were expected at the Crown and Mitre, and drove there where we had a rink until 715, when we returned to the theatre and I was given a complementary ticket for the stalls.
When Charley Wilson came on, I was amazed (and a little worried!) at the amount he could say at such short notice and then John came on to give the first half – a little under an hour. It sounded alright to me, but afterwards he said he didn't know what he was saying. After nothing much to eat all day, he'd had two pints of beer just before, and he said he left out lots of things he normally says and found himself embarking on strange tales and, having started them, he had to finish them! John took us past the first base camp, where they started up the wrong route, to the final base camp, and then Charles took over. This half was a revelation to me, the photos I'd seen looking up, had always made it look such an easy angle, but Charles showed photos showing the snow slopes in profile and what slopes they were. Then he showed the aerial photo of their side of the mountain. He was sent this when they were on the way and, he said, he nearly turned back when he saw it. Then he had two photos of the making of the shelf for the one tent of the highest camp. A mighty fine effort of George Band's I should imagine. Then some lovely views taken from about the summit, and so back and off the mountain in a couple of days.
I went round to the dressing room afterwards, but was waylaid by a man with an Everest book – could I get it signed for him? Then an old college friend of Charles had come over from Redcar – we could have stopped there for a long time, talking to various people, but Charles reminded us that we had a supper waiting for us at their hotel.
It was an old fashioned sort of hotel, we went upstairs to the dining room and I was quite impressed when I was asked if I wanted thick or clear soup, but not so impressed by the temperature of it when it came! Next there was a fish course and then the chicken. I had been hungry at first and had eaten quickly and then, suddenly I realised I'd had enough, couldn't tackle the biscuits and cheese which arrived next. Charles seemed annoyed that there was no sweet course for me, the waiter explained that the kitchen shut at 9.15 (it was then 10.10), but Charles said he'd ordered a sweet and it didn't matter that I was no longer hungry, a sweet had to be supplied for me, and eventually the waiter brought a slice of melon.
We went down to the lounge for coffee, but were ordered up to the drawing room – and a drawing room it was too. We sat and talked – the others got onto the war and then Charles drove Charley home, and finally at about 12, Charles and John took me to the station, saw me safely into the ladies room and left me.
The 12.37 was pretty crowded, but I was amazed to find Bob Pettigrew following me in. He was on his way back from Glenmore Lodge. We talked, argued with the rest of the compartment about having the window open (the guard was even fetched, but he wouldn't take sides) and then at Skipton at 2.30 two people got out and I was able to curl up on a couple of seats and doze to Nottingham.
Alan called at 7 o'clock, he had picked up Bob, his only other passenger, and we started on the familiar route. At the Mermaid we met Arthur and Lucy, also Mike Gadd and Ann, and then on for tea at Llangollen, where Bob took over the driving; Alan slept through the Maerdy bends, but Bob woke him on the corner before the straight part. At the Pen-y-Pass soon after midnight we had cocoa and biscuits before going to bed. Ernest was waiting for us; Pat and Alf had gone to bed.
We were away before 10 o'clock. I don't think the others realised what was happening, the three of us were in the car and driving to Cwm Silyn. We followed the instructions in the interim guide book and seemed to make most of the height to the crag in the car.
I'd have liked to try Overhanging Chimneys as a first climb, but the others don't share my enthusiasm for such places and it was two to one for the Outside Edge, which Alan led, and then we came down the Ordinary Route. A little to eat, a sip of the coffee, provided, thermos and all, by the Pen-y-Pass and Bob was looking at Kirkus's route. The time was about 3.30, we knew we hadn't time to finish it, but we felt like something a little harder. A few of the holds were wet, but it was going alright in rubbers. It was rather delectable too, delicate, unscratched, but with no desperate moves. Things were going well, the lead seemed well within Bob's capabilities, and Alan and I were able to follow, but at the top of the pitch 3 we realised that the light was failing rapidly and, after a short traverse to the left, we found a block for rappelling off and got down at about 5 o'clock.
I had my boots on first and started down straight away to get below the scree before it got any darker. Soon I heard the others, to my left, and they were soon down and past me, as I continued my cautious way down. They didn't wait at the bottom. I continued quite happily. I didn't find the track, but I wasn't worried. I knew I was carrying torch, map and compass, if I didn't find it soon, so I continued on my way.
At the end of the llyn, I realised that the time had come to consult the map and compass. I stopped and took off my sac, only to remember that my map didn't reach as far as Cwm Silyn! – but I wasn't without resources, it was a glorious starry night and I took a bearing on the Pole Star and set off more or less in a southwest direction. Unfortunately I was well above the track and I should have gone west, I should never have reached it on my line, but all was not lost, for the others had reached the car by this time, and there was no missing the lights. Apparently Alan turned the car round twice, once where he had parked, and then he decided to drive up the next field to shorten my walk.
I felt I had my own private lighthouse, with its beams sweeping the moors for me.
We arrived back at the Pen-y-Pass at 7 o'clock, the first back, and so we were able to have baths. The others had climbed on Lliwedd and descended the Gribin.
In the evening, Bob could get no support for his suggestion of a trip to Caernarvon and we sat in the lounge and talked of Greek mythology.
Ernest invited himself to climb with us, but when he read up the description of my suggested climb he thought better of it. I've always wanted to try the Crevice on Carreg Wasted – just in case it should happen to be my type! Ernest was put off by the advice that it is perhaps impossible to a climber of slightly more than average build.
We set off walking down the road (much to Bob's disgust) with Ernest and Arthur soon catching us up. At the crag, Ernest thought it might be worth going to lead the Wrinkle in nails, while we put on rubbers for the Crevice. My bluff was called, Bob offered me the lead and, knowing that it wasn't his type, I had to accept. I had expected the first pitch to be just a walk, but, in its wet state, it was quite awkward. We all foregathered at the top, and then I went along the slab and brought Bob round to the awkward stance at the foot of the chimney.
Now I really was having second thoughts, what on earth made me think that I could lead a climb called "extremely strenuous", but I thought I must have a look at it before I retreated, and so I left my camera with Bob and started up. Unfortunately I didn't put on my over-socks and the rocks were green and a little greasy; however, the handholds were there all the way up, so it didn't really matter. This pitch made me realise that enthusiasm was everything in this climbing business, and I nearly lacked enough to get me up. At first it was simply my pride which wouldn't let me turn back, but gradually as I fought my way up, it became a challenge and I was determined to finish it.
A move or two up the chimney and then I realised it would be necessary to move out and, although I saw the move, I was reluctant to do so. Then I thought to throw a sling over a little hump and with this in place I moved out and up, and then back in the chimney where I replaced the sling runner with a thread belay. I rested some time and then worked out the next moves, the holds were there, minute for the right hand, but adequate for the left fingers. The foothold was there too, on the right wall, but the chimney was too constricting to get a foot on it at first – a try and a rest of 5 minutes to get my breath back; this was repeated until I thought to pull myself up on the finger-holds, until I could get my foot on the greasy hold behind me. Standing on the foothold, as always more handholds arrived, and there I was able to move out of the chimney onto the slab and, although I thought it was all over, I got another runner on, as a spike appeared. "How's it going?" Bob queried. "I can't say anything, for if I did, it would be hopeful", I replied, superstitious as always. After a rest, I was able to make a long stride to the left and then was up and belaying.
The book had suggested that the chimney should be started, facing right, so I had tried it facing left! This seemed the obvious way, but I always find it best to try the other way and then, if it doesn't go, I can go all out on the right way.
Bob came up slowly, but not as slowly as I had gone. He had first brought Alan round, and he said he wouldn't have missed seeing Bob for worlds.
Once at the first runner, Bob wanted to go down, but I wouldn't hear of that, so he warned me that I'd have to pull him and he meant pull – so I took the stretch out of the rope as Bob assured me that my finger holds didn't exist.
Alan was up the first part like a shot, Bob had been rather cunning and had left the sling on and Alan was most annoyed to find that it was his sling! Once the sling was off, Alan said he was going down, and it seemed to me that his whole weight came on the rope. Thinking that he was hanging on it I lowered him, but I think he climbed down in reality.
Next the pitch joined Crackstone Rib; it was quite a shock at first to be out in the open and feel the exposure, but then I enjoyed it, and found it easy, and the long stride at the top presented no difficulty.
We hurried down and joined Alan, who, with the aid of the second rope, round a tree, had descended the bottom pitch. We ate, and then waited for Ernest and Arthur, and when they arrived we accepted coffee from them (they had a thermos each and we had one between three). Ernest's opinion of Wrinkle was that it would present no difficulty to a good climber. Arthur, in vibrams, was a little quiet about it.
There was dampness in the air, if not a drizzle, so we packed and set off, before time back to the Pen-y-Pass. The three of us were in front and we tossed for baths, and I won for the first one. Arthur soon caught us up, but we didn't mention baths to him, and at the Pen-y-Pass I slipped up to turn on the water.
We enjoyed our high tea, lots of cold beef, and a salad of mostly lettuce, orange, celery and a crinkly cut tomato, together with home-made dressing.
We left soon after 5 o'clock, had a cup of tea at Shrewsbury (to fill in time) and then went on to the Three Tuns just before Lichfield, where we had all agreed to meet, and so back to Nottingham at about 10.30.
Once more Alan picked up Bob, and then called for me at a minute to seven. We soon picked up a hitch-hiker, who didn't seem to have much confidence in Alan's driving. "Do you have many accidents in this car?" "No". "You're lucky then, aren't you?" He whispered to me. We dropped him at Derby. I was hoping that, as we were travelling on our own, our halts would be short, but in the Crypt we found Diane, with Stan and Bill Little, so we stayed until after 10. They were en route for Cwm Cowarch.
At Llangollen we were too late for the café, but managed to get cups of tea and met Mike, Ann, Betty Bird and Andrew, en route for Cwm Pennant.
We had all taken camping gear, thinking that the Stoats might be occupying Glan Dena, but when we got there we found that Bob had mistaken the weekend, and the only other inhabitants were the Lomas family and the Curtis' of the Fell and Rock.
I had been developing a cold on Friday and was a little sorry for myself coming to this nasty, cold, wet country, so I stayed in bed and waited for my cup of tea. Before I'd had time to drink it and get up, I was told that breakfast was ready.
At about 10 o'clock we set out by car, through Capel and Beddgelert, but then continued through the Aberglaslyn Pass and on to the rocks at Tremadoc. Bob looked out the Hound's Head Buttress, the car was left at the foot of it, and we sauntered up through the boulders and then changed into rubbers. Bob led the climb competently and I found the first pitch the most difficult, it's so difficult to change knees on a small hold! On the next pitch Bob became quite enthusiastic – a perfect Gran'mère's crack (the book calls the climb the "Poor man's Ryan Lochmatter") – I could see no connection when I saw the easy 45º slab. Bob found the start of the last pitch, the "Black Block Crack", the most difficult, but to me it didn't compare with the first pitch. The type of climbing is very reminiscent of Chamonix and I quite enjoyed it, despite the cold. I had on two woollies, but still could have done with more, even while climbing. We managed the descent of the Pinnacle and then strolled over to the Crag and Cave, but unfortunately there was no-one at home to make us tea, but I was very charmed with the position of the hut. Next, Bob took us to the Upper Tier, Pant-Ifan, for Quatre Fois, which he had done before.
The day was still young, but we strolled down to the boots and then to the car, thinking of making a circular tour on the way back. Alan had a map of the district in the car, and we were able to find Cwm Pennant, so drove up the valley hoping to find the Oread hut. We had a lovely moment when the sun touched some of the lower hills. The sun had been behind cloud all day, but as it sank lower, it came from beneath the cloud. We knew the 'hut' was a largish house, but fortunately Alan didn't drive up to the first mansion we saw, for it wasn't the Oread hut. The next place of some size was across the river, and we soon recognised Mike's van outside it. We were most impressed; they were making a good job of the decorating and they had a few incredibly hefty bits of furniture. We stayed some time talking, and had a few cups of tea and then, after dark, left to drive straight back. We stopped at the Pen-y-Gwryd and bought another interim guide book issued by the M.U.M.C. and so back to Glan Dena for more tea and supper. Soup was followed by liver, chops and onions. We had far more onions in the party than potatoes! – apricots and cream formed the sweet.
Afterwards we made the familiar trip in RVO to Bangor. None of the three picture programmes seemed very promising; we eventually went in the Plaza, for Alan said that "Love me and leave me" was good of its type; unfortunately it wasn't the type for any of us. I was surprised that the boys weren't keener on Doris Day. Alan said that in my three visits to Bangor cinemas this year, I'd seen a good variety of films.
Once more I stayed in bed, and once more it was Alan who brought round the tea.
There were clouds on the tops, but this time we decided that we'd find Rectory Chimneys; the car was taken to Ynis Ettws, and we plodded slowly up Cwm Glas to rope at the foot of the climb, Alan in the lead. It was too cold a day to climb as a three, even with three woollies on this time I was shivering and the rocks were so cold to the fingers. A move up on the third or fourth pitch nearly defeated me, but once I thought to reach up with the right instead of the left hand, I made it.
Alan couldn't make the outside route on the top pitch 'go', so Bob had a look at it and got into the chimney and was soon up, and Alan let me go next, as I was cold. At the top I was in favour of going straight down, but fortunately Bob insisted that we went over Crib Goch – we traversed to the col and then went along the ridge. I soon warmed up and thoroughly enjoyed the walk. There was a party in shoes going the other way, the girls were doing fine, how I envied them the adventure it must have been, with the pinnacles showing vaguely through the mist. We sat by the cairn, and someone said, "Doesn't that bit of rock look just like a brick?" Poor bit of rock; was that such a sin that it must be pelted with so many rocks that I thought Crib Goch would soon cease to be a three thousander? And so down the familiar northern ridge. The others got ahead and went down to the right, but, on my own, I preferred the familiar way to the left. We all arrived at the car at the same time, but only because the others had waited for me further up!
At Glan Dena again Mr. Lomas told me that we'd done the wrong thing, "Cold on Crib-y-Ddysgl ?" – it had been lovely and warm on Tryfan. The day before we'd done wrong exposing ourselves to the east wind when it was so warm on Lliwedd – when I said that I had a cold, he said that he also had a cold, etc.
We left soon after 5 o'clock and stopped in Shrewsbury, but split up, some for beer, some for tea. This time we picked up two hitch hikers, for different parts, and we were back at about 10.30.
Diane arrived about 10 p.m. and, soon after 11 o'clock, we walked to the station, where we found Alan in the ticket queue – we handed him our money. At about 11.52, the extra, the 11.32 arrived, and we were able to get seats and sat on three a side to Carlisle, which we reached at 5 a.m. We made our way to the refreshment room and Diane was eventually able to find her sister, Lois, awaiting the real 11.52 from Nottingham.
The Penrith train was warm when we reached it and at Penrith we sat in front of the fire in the Ladies waiting room until it was time to board the diesel-electric. I was so proud to be able to show this to the others. It was still dark for the lovely run to Keswick, but we woke up to gaze at the snow on the east side of Blencathra (all we were to see this weekend). At Keswick, we were surprised to find Joy and Michael awaiting us. Their story came out later, that Keswick Y.H. shuts for Friday nights and they had eventually found their way to a shelter in the Park! – after travelling by day to get their sleep that evening!
They said that the express bus left at 5.40 on a Sunday night, so we waited in the marked place and caught the 8.25 to Rosthwaite. We made our way to the Scafell Hotel for the key to Salving House, but had to go round to the back as the hotel was shut for the winter, so there was no breakfast there, nor evening meal as we had hoped. We returned to Salving House and some people cooked breakfast while Michael lit the fire – we had a minor panic for, while we turned on the water, it didn't seem to be entering the tank, but eventually we turned another tap and all was well.
I seemed very slow to get ready, but eventually at about 11 o'clock we set out, after Lois had rung the Borrowdale Hotel to book an evening meal.
We went up Coombe Ghyll – avoiding the river bed in its lower reaches, but where it steepened, it was more than Alan, Michael and I could resist, and we went fairly directly up – it was much more tame than under snow with Douglas one other New Year. Near the top, Michael went round; I looked at a way to the right, but hadn't the courage to force it, while Alan was trying a traverse to my left. He also retreated and we changed places. I got up and, as Alan didn't seem to be making much progress, I linked my three slings together and offered them down, calling to Michael to back-stop me. I don't know whether we were adequately belayed, but I felt that I was alright Jack, for I thought that the first thing which would have happened would have been that my hand would have opened and, despite the fact that the sling was also round my wrist, I was afraid that I'd drop it. All was well. A couple of pulls on the sling and Alan was up and we were continuing up to the last summit of Glanamara, where quite fortuitously it seemed, we ran into the others. We continued on, over Allen Crags, onto Esk House and down to Stye Head.
We sat and discussed our original idea of ascending Gable, but decided against it, as we'd have to leave Salving House at 6 o'clock to walk to the Borrowdale Hotel (it was then 3 o'clock). Alan and Diane went along as far as the Needle, while the rest of us started down, soon getting caught up in a mob from Derwent Bank, so I learned from Vivienne Snow, who soon recognised me.
It was a long walk back to Rosthwaite; I was with Michael and I seemed to be grumbling the whole way.
The water was nice and hot, and we soon had the tea made, with which we ate Christmas cake. Soon other people started to arrive, there were the four Englishmen from Glasgow, and JU.M.C.S. members, then there was Paul and his girl friend. I could hardly get changed, there were so many people to talk to, and then there was the girl I let in to wait for her bus, she also was very talkative, when she could get a word in edgeways.
It was drizzling, so we were very pleased to find a bus at 6.05 to take us down the valley.
As most of us were in trousers, we were a little dubious about entering such a formal place as the 'Borrowdale', but once inside it didn't seem to matter, in fact I decided in the end that we definitely brightened the place, the other people being mostly middle-aged and quiet.
We sat in the lounge and drank Dubonnet, until the gong went at 7 o'clock, then were the first in to the lovely, candle-lit dining room. The table for six was ready for us; I had tomato soup, followed by prawn salad – delicious and original, and then came the main course, turkey – after which I was decidedly full. We had a bottle of sparkling wine (Golden Guinea) – the fact that it was New Year's Eve gave us the excuse to celebrate. For sweet, I had apple meringue with cream, and I just had room for one biscuit with cheese. We retired to the lounge again for coffee and decided that a brandy would finish the whole thing off.
Later we started to drink beer – that was my round – considerably cheaper!
We had found much to talk and argue about, but as the evening wore on we settled down in groups. Diane and Joy I assumed were talking skiing. Lois was talking to her Aunty Vi who was in the hotel and I seemed between Michael and Alan, the former giving his views on the development of crampon technique so that step cutting is unnecessary!
For some time my eyes had been closing, and I was glad when, at 11 o'clock there was a suggestion that we should go. I know we had gone to Borrowdale to see the New Year in, but we'd had a lovely evening, and it seemed a pity to spoil it by staying up too late. We wanted to get a taxi back, but Auntie Vi said she'd run the girls back, but the boys would have to walk – actually she went back for them and brought them the rest of the way.
We went to bed without even making tea.
Michael brought the tea round at about 9 o'clock and we were away at about 11, walking down the valley, meaning to climb en route. Our first halt was at the Bowder Stone, where I insisted that we should climb the pinnacle – I feel it is a real climb, despite only just getting above the trees, Michael seconded Alan and Lois went on the end of their rope, with Diane and me on the second rope.
I had assured everyone that the climb was only 'diff', despite the 'vd' the book gave it, but I don't know whether it was through leading the climb, or the fact that I was seeing it through the eyes of a beginner (Lois), but I felt that it was 'vd', while the lads were agreeing with me, that it was 'd'. Diane at times encouraged her sister, for instance on the move to the right, accomplished by the aid of the tree. We didn't bother with the second summit, and came down the path (I went too far up before finding it). Some people played on the Bowder Stone. Michael carried his big brother to the top and then we continued along the road. We had lost Joy when we roped up. She continued up to walk to Grasmere, where she hoped to board our bus. At Grange, Alan and I phoned about buses, and found there was one at 2.30 and the next at 4.30 – too late for the connection at Carnforth, so we decided we might as well catch the express at 5.40.
As usual I was behind for the road walking, but Alan was waiting at the foot of Shepherd's Crag. He said he'd shouted to the others, but they'd taken no notice, so we went to the foot of the rocks. We eventually confirmed that we were right at the foot of Chamonix, so we changed into rubbers and started up. I had a little trouble on the second pitch, Alan had stepped straight across to the wall, but I couldn't find a good enough handhold for this, and eventually I was able to find a left foothold in the scoop. For the next move I could only just reach the finger-hold, but once I had it, all was easy.
After this, the way became rather scrappy and we traversed right to 'Little Chamonix'; I suppose this part is in quite a good position, but it is easy technically and both Alan and I came away with the impression that the climb was a good one for a low outcrop, but doesn't compare with a mountain 'severe' (unlike Black Crag Buttress, which I consider compared with a 'vd' anywhere). While still climbing we saw the 3.30 bus go by, but we got off the rocks before dark, down to the road and continued along it to Keswick, arriving at 5.25.
We left our sacks at the bus station, and walked back for something to eat, passing Michael and co. on the way, who ignored us! We just had time for egg and chips, then ran back to the bus and got our packs into the boot. We had time for tea at Lancaster and reached Manchester at about 10.15.
We made our way to the nearest train station (very handy) and, to our astonishment and joy, found that the 12.05 Mondays only goes straight through to Nottingham and it leaves from that very station!
Next we had a trip into the town and found an expresso coffee bar. Unfortunately, we didn't speak the language and found ourselves with ordinary coffee! Back at the station, we found the right platform, walked up it and drank Diane's red clover wine. Then, having heard the engine driver confirm that it really was the Nottingham train, we boarded it, lighting a candle to make up for no train lights – later an official seemed a little put out by our presence, apparently he'd made the others queue outside.
We divided out our food and then dozed to Nottingham, which we reached at 2.30. Alan found 'GRY' duly left at the station and ran Diane and me to Cranmer Street before driving Michael to Rodney Road.
Alan called at 6.30. He already had Diane and Pat , and we were on our way in record time. Alan seemed quite amused that Alf and Ernest, the other two drivers were going Uttoxeter way. It was as though he knew that he was going to miss practically all the fog, while they were going to run into it. Alan started by telling me a theory he had about keeping below 55 m.p.h. and saving petrol; unfortunately the empty roads were too much for him and we seemed to make the run in record time. I suppose most drivers, fearing fog had kept off the roads. A half hour's stop at the Mermaid, and then on again to Llangollen, where we hoped the snack bar would be open, but it had to be the chip shop. The next stop was Cwm Dyli, where I was a little put out to find that the key was not in the power station. The man could only talk vaguely about there being someone at the hut.
Frankly, I didn't believe in these other people and, on getting no reply to knocking on the door, I went round the back, where a voice from inside said that the door was being opened. Once inside I found that Sheila Kelly and a couple of friends were sleeping downstairs. We made ourselves tea and then retired to the dormitory and had just got into bed when Bob arrived, he and Ernest delivered Joy and once more we'd settled into our beds when we heard voices outside, but, it being a lovely night, Pat Webster decided it would be simpler if she camped.
There was activity below at about 8.30 and that prompted us to get up. We had our breakfast and were ready just before the campers. Alan's car load, together with Bob, set off for Lliwedd, where Horned Crag had been mentioned. Alan started up with Pat, and Bob led the second rope with Diane and me. I found it very polished for nails – quite a good 'diff' I thought, up and up we went, sometimes catching up the rope ahead, and sometimes being left behind, and then we all gathered together, at the last slab. Pat had just got up it when I arrived, but Bob didn't seem to be having much luck with it, despite the shoulder I offered him. Then a minute tricouni hold broke away and he was down (he was only a couple of feet up). Next Diane tried, she got up higher, in vibrams, even got her foot round the corner, but couldn't get her weight on it, so she retreated. Next Bob made a traverse to the right – along some quartz and up a groove in the corner. With a rope above her, Diane managed it, but she made the step across to the left with the right foot! Above the slab Diane belayed to bring me up – what a hope, my right foot slipped and I decided Bob's alternative would be easier; Diane went up and then I tried the alternative – I soon decided that the slab couldn't have been harder! I couldn't traverse with my feet on the quartz, so I descended and traverse with my hands on it. The groove was dirty and loose, but eventually I was up. Alan and Pat had got tired of waiting for us on the slab and had gone on. We had the summit of Lliwedd to ourselves, and a pleasant spot we found it. A little snow had blown over while we were on the slab, but it was clear on the top. We went on to the West Summit and then down the Gribin Ridge and so back to Cwm Dyli just at the end of the twilight. We made tea – Earl Grey from Diane – and continued to make it for each party as they came back. Soon after 6 o'clock, despite the rain, we made our way to the cars, and so to the Pen-y-Gwryd, where we spent the time in the Everest room until dinner. The place was very full – 60 to dinner, the first person to speak to me was Dave Thomas who told me that there was an A.C.G. committee meeting; he also described his experiences on the South Face of the Meije.
Next, Roger Chorley told me that Denise was about and would be joining us at the Pinnacle Club hut.
Dinner was a pleasant meal, I thought Bob would approve because there was some rice with the chicken! After the meal Bob thought it was much too crowded to stay, but eventually we found seats in the Everest room. We left soon after 10 o'clock. I didn't know Denise by sight so didn't contact her.
In the hut we made tea for our visitors, and when they'd gone, Joy and Pat W. settled themselves downstairs by the fire, while the rest of us got into our old beds upstairs.
About 12 o'clock Denise arrived, apologising for waking us. I'm afraid I persuaded her to put on the light and talk; I had heard so much about her for the last half dozen years, that I was curious to see her. She knew all about the Himalayan trip, had heard about it from Gwen, was surprised that Gwen was no longer going. She warned me against Mrs. D. as a climber, but said she didn't think she'd mind others going off and doing climbs without her.
There had been heavy hail in the night, and the hills looked rather lovely in the morning, despite the tidy breeze still blowing. There were signs that blue sky might break through. Joy brought up the tea, and then we got up. Denise, in pyjamas, was a little shocked when Alf walked in for breakfast (by special invitation).
Before we had half finished the chores, the boys were in, having breakfasted, and taken down their tents. Michael took over the washing up and, by about 10.30, we were putting our big packs in the cars, and wondering where to go. The day before the Three Cliffs had been mentioned, but with the snow, Tremadoc seemed more suitable for rock climbs. This didn't quite fill the bill, for it was obviously such a good day for ridge walking. Then I remembered the East Ridge of Nantlle-y-Garn and that fitted the bill perfectly, so we drove to the nearest point.
We walked up by the wall, and roped up at the foot of the climb. Alan and I had a race to be first to start, Alan won and Michael tied himself on the end of that rope. Bob had said that whoever he climbed with, he didn't want to be with Diane and me again, we're too polite! So Diane tied on my rope, leaving Pat with Bob. Ernest tried to tie on between the Daleys. When dissuaded he tried to tie behind Michael, but I pointed out that it would be best to have the rope of three last, so he followed Pat. Diane and I led through, the second taking the pack each pitch. I started and Diane had the second little part, which Alan called the hardest on the climb. I had the Library pitch (just my type) and then higher up I had the real crux, a nose. There was a flurry of snow around me as I started up, which discouraged me, but the wind dropped as I felt the holds on the next part. There was only a right finger-hold, and it was iced, and, as the tricouni hold was rather meagre, I suggested to Michael (just above) that he should give me a rope down. With this I was soon up, but I felt I had done the right thing as, if my foot had slipped, I couldn't have held myself on with the iced finger hold.
I had an idea that Diane would have led it quite easily, but it would have wasted so much time. We caught up the other rope on another of my pitches. I found myself sitting astride a lump, and took some time getting into a standing position; above that was a short jamming crack (just my type) with a slab above.
The others were out of sight by this time, and we found there was quite a walk before we reached Alan retreating from a little chimney. I had a quick look at it, but soon retreated, agreeing with Alan that I'd never felt colder rock.
We walked up to the summit of the ridge, unroped and ate. Alan went down to see how the last rope was getting on and then we started along the ridge. It was a grand day for this, with the thin sprinkling of snow underfoot, and the invigorating wind. There were lovely views too, with the sun coming and going. Cwm Pennant looked a gloriously remove valley, leading to the sea. We went on to the summit before Craig Cwm Silyn. There was a high monolith on it, which Alan and I climbed, by neighbouring sides – Alan won the race. The sides were steep and it had its interest to climb such steep rocks with all the handholds loose. I wasn't looking forward to the descent, so I suggested a rope (Alan had brought his up). We threw the middle down to Michael and Diane, who put it round a rock to take an upward pull and Alan went down the other side. When Alan had gone, I was exposed to the full force of the wind, and was glad to follow down.
We left the last rope to eat, and we hurried down – first down a steep grass slope, and then straight across country to the cars. At least Alan and Diane went straight, but Michael and I, to avoid a little rise, followed a sort of ditch contouring round the hillside. At times we had to leave it when it burrowed into the hillside, but on the whole it formed an easy way back, but considerably slower than Alan's.
We drove straight back to the Pen-y-Gwryd for tea and cakes, arriving at about 4.15, instead of 4.30, as Alan had suggested in the morning. Half an hour later, Ernest arrived, and there was just time for him to have tea before we left at about 5 o'clock.
Denise arrived back with John Disley. The new route outside Lockwood's had 'gone' and they had recovered their pegs. Denise asked for a lift to Capel and Ernest agreed to take her. When we met again at Shrewsbury, Ernest was pleased to be able to tell me that she was the daughter of Nea Morin, and quite an experienced climber!
There was ice on the roads, but Alan had no trouble. Beyond Llangollen in a village a man waved us down, shouting "take it easy", Alan said that it was a useful warning as the road was very bad on the bends which followed, and then we had a greater warning when we saw the battered car.
We overtook Alf some time before Shrewsbury, and they sat by us in the café and, as we were going out, Ernest arrived with Bob, Joy and Michael.
At the second stop at Litchfield, we were in the car ready to drive away, when Alf arrived.
We reached Derby in good time for Diane to catch her next to last bus, and I was in by 10.30, where Pat stayed for ¾ of an hour before going to the bus station for the 11.30.
Arthur called for me at about 6.45 p.m., he already had Lucy and next went to Loughtons to pick up Evelyn (she had almost given up hope of seeing us by the time we arrived). The roads were very bad with the snow – at one time we were sliding gently across the road ('christying'), but stopped before an oncoming bus reached us! We stopped at Muckly Corner, where rum was the order of the day.
Then on through Shrewsbury and Llangollen, with snow on the ground, but just when we were expecting it to be really thick, it disappeared, and conditions got much warmer, even in the car. We were the last car to arrive at Glan Dena. Eddie and Jean, Ernest, Bob, Diane, John and Norman, Paul and Joy were already there, together with M.A.M. members.
I was first up and found that the pipes were thawing and leaking badly, so I called Bob – the water was turned off and the handymen set to work with blow lamps.
Arthur started up Tryfan with a party, but I waited and Ernest took Bob, Diane, John and me round to the Pen-y-Pass. We walked round the track, over the causeway, and then started up the Miners Track. There was only a sprinkling of snow and it was drizzling and Bob said it'd be pointless to try to do Trinity Gully – so we went up the Pen-y-Gwryd track and I said if there was snow at the top we could go down the gully.
How I enjoyed the ascent, there was clear water ice in places, and I amused myself cutting up it, even cutting handholds in places. Then for the last 20 ft or so there was packed snow in which I tried cutting both up and down. Instead of everyone elbowing for position of step cutter they all stood aside for me to get the practice. I'd murmur occasionally – "Do you think these steps are big enough for laden Sherpas?" or "I'd have to rope the coolies on a slope like this!" The funny thing was that everyone took my remarks quite seriously, I was the only one who couldn't believe it. We went on up to the top and then Bob found the top of Central Trinity, and I cut the first pitch down, but I was quite glad of him to lead through with me. Ernest decided he'd get cramp if he tried to come with us, so went straight back. We were able to get axe belays all the way and went down about 200 ft but, when it started to steepen, I suggested we'd better retreat or we'd be caught by the dark (we'd made a late start that morning). John seemed very disappointed and thought it worth chancing a night out (poor Ernest waiting back at the car!). John didn't get much support, and we were soon up the steps which had taken an hour to cut down, and retreated the way we had come.
Michael arrived in time for the meal at Glan Dena, having hitched from Birmingham, and then we went in the cars to the Bryn Tyrch. I hardly got in the door before Mrs. Gravina started talking to me about my "trip" (very much a subject of conversation the whole weekend). Eventually I was able to reach Joy, and meet her friend Bill – and so to closing time. I wanted to be last to bed to arrange my wet things around the fire (the drying room was caput), but just as I had got the Crag and Cave to bed, the M.A.MK. arrived back and I gave up.
As he had promised, Michael brought round the morning tea, and I got up at about 8.30. It was another uninspiring day, we were slow to put on our wet clothes, but after a while, Diane, Bob, Evelyn, Ernest and I set off up Pen-yr-Ole Wen and onto the first Carnedd; I wondered whether there'd be time to go on to Llewellyn, but enthusiasm seemed lacking (the mist was thick and the wind biting) and we drifted down, arriving back at 2 or 3 o'clock.
Arthur was later back from Capel Pinnacles, but we were away before 5 o'clock. We stopped at Shrewsbury and at the Spread Eagle Gaily, meeting Ernest's car load both times.
After leaving Evelyn at Loughborough, Arthur reached Bridgeford at about 11.30 and Lucy took me home.
"Will you have your car for February 18th?" – "Will you let me invite you to the Pinnacle club dinner?" – "I hope you don't think those two statements are connected". These were some of the things I'd said to Alan on the way to Wales in January, but the result was that I, and the two prospective members, Pat and Diane, were getting a lift to the Pinnacle Club Dinner.
Alan called for me, and we picked up Diane (complete with skis) at 6.45, and started via Manchester for Langdale. We made one stop for tea or coffee, otherwise Alan drove on steadily on the icy roads, and we reached Kendal at about 11.50 – after driving round the town we eventually found the station, and five minutes later Jean's train arrived and she continued with us to Raw Head.
The fire was lit when we arrived, I needn't have bothered to have got a key. The water was even hot in the kettle, for our tea, and so to bed.
An alarm went at about 7.30 – ugh! We got up about 8 o'clock and breakfasted off porridge, bacon and egg, and marmalade. Denise arrived, and about 9.30 we went along to the old D.G. where the Pinnacle Club were breakfasting. They were very curious to know about my trip. "Who else is going?" – I know Mrs. who is it, I mean who else on the climbing side?" was Evelyn's crack. The party were mostly going to walk over Bowfell, so the five of us set off first, to find a snow gully. It had been a little cloudy first thing, but now the clouds seemed disappearing so I foretold a brilliant day, but I was wrong, for it was snowing very gently most of the day, although there were some lovely lighting effects.
We went up the Band, and I talked about "cutting round" towards the Buttress. Alan took me up on that and said he hoped I was wrong. Actually I was surprised to find that I had spoken truly, for this was icy in parts, beneath the new snow, but only one or two blows were needed to a step.
Before the Buttress, I started up Broad Gully – my wrist was already aching, from my cutting of the traversing steps, but I continued cutting, zigzagging to and fro. Diane soon overtook me, cutting an elegant line straight up, but I didn't let that divert me from my "steps for laden Sherpas". At the top it was more fun, it steepened, and we didn't traverse to the west, where it was at a gentler angle, we continued straight up, to where it was nearly vertical – but no cornice, and so over onto the plateau. Below me, Pat was cutting her way up, and below her Alan, having trouble with his spectacles and lastly Jean, coming up very carefully, without her axe.
Diane soon disappeared, to get out of the wind. I was thinking "I'd have to give the Sherpas a fixed rope on a place like this and, thinking of Jean without an axe, I decided to send down a rope. The trouble was that the wind was too strong and I couldn't get it down without tying my sac onto the end of it.
When I looked down, I saw the others in a circle round the sac, looking at it and not knowing what to do, and the wind was too strong for me to shout. The snow on the top was to hard for an axe belay, so I had to walk back and stand with the rope around my axe, hoping they'd solve the mystery of the sac on the axe. I was nearly collapsing with laughter, and Diane then appeared, looking a little puzzled. Soon the others appeared over the top and we made our way to the summit, passing the Pinnacle Club on their way down. The next people we met were Stan and Clive, and they followed us. They had slept near Kendal and come on in the morning. We went down to the Three Tarns (quite invisible) and then over the Crinkles, and finally up Pike o'Blisco. We seemed to have numerous halts on the way, there were little glissades, but Blisco was almost out of the snow.
Back through Wall End, and to the old D.G. for tea. They were having tea in the lounge, so we joined them. Later Eileen came in, she was worried because Una Cameron, who should have replied to "The Guests" hadn't come, so Eileen was asking Monica Jackson to speak instead. Monica was showing her Himalayan slides after the dinner and she thought it would be a bit much to speak as well, so she was trying to get Esme Speakman, the L.S.C.C. representative to do it instead, and Esme wasn't at all keen. Eileen was going over the other guests and came to Mr. Moore. Her remark was that she had only just met him, so she couldn't ask him to speak. I immediately volunteered to ask him. I said that I thought Stan would do it. The point was, would what Stan had to say be suitable for our dinner! Stan was soon persuaded to do it and, when Pat and Alan arrived, we went back to Raw Head, to change and for some people to have more tea.
More people had arrived, notably Rie and Dave Thomas. Dave told me Gwen's point of view over the Kulu trip and Rie told me about Gwen Gerald's trip to the Karokoram. Eileen had found room for Clive at the dinner. Denise sat at the end of the table, then Jean and then me and Alan; on the other side were Sylvia and her friend, Pat, Diane, Dave and Rie. Dave seemed in fine form, and enjoying himself very much. He is trying to get to the Caucasus.
Sheila Bull made the speech to the guests. She had it in for Stan, accused him of crashing Hannibal both times! When Stan replied he put her right about the first crash, and then said that as he now drives through Kendal and sees the police salute him in their beautiful new uniforms, he is rather proud to think that the uniforms have been bought out of the fine he paid. Then he went on for some time about how his stock would go up, when he could quote that he'd been to a Pinnacle dinner and now that he'd actually spoken at one, but I expect that I saw his point more than the average one. He only brought in one 'Hell' which sounded most out of place in such a gathering.
Jack Appleyard proposed the toast to the club, and to his neighbour our President, and then Mrs. Bryan replied. Poor Mrs. Bryan got rather muddled. I was terrified about what she'd say about me, but all she said was that I had climbed a lot in Wales, and my climbs included Longlands. Fortunately she missed out the Salbytschyn (she apologised to me afterwards for this) and then said that I was going to Kulu. This gave her a lead for she knew Kulu. Other people, whose climbs she could quote were Nea, Denise and Rie.
Next we adjourned to the lounge, where Stan had a lot to say. I didn't hear what he'd said to Sheila Bull, but her reply to him was to inform him that she happened to be a Bachelor of Divinity. Poor Stan he seemed subdued for the rest of the evening. Various people asked me about my trip, including Mrs. Eden-Smith and Alan Hargreaves, and then we trooped back into the dining room for the slide show. Before it started, I was called out to Mrs. Hargreaves who had a phone message for me, that Joy had rung up to ask us to call at Ilkley on our way back.
I was very pleased to hear about the Scottish Women's Expedition to Nepal again, even if Monica wasn't quite the lecturer Betty was, nor were her slides of such an even standard, but it was still very good.
We were about to troop back to Raw Head, when Stan shepherded us into the bar. The others congregated round Stan, who, they said was practically speechless by the end of the session, but I was called over to talk to Monica Jackson, who was very helpful and offered me any help she cold give, and gave me her address. She said that when she met Mrs. D. she was so terrified, she didn't know what she said to her. She was begging me to be good to the Sherpas. She said that they had got on so well with them that she didn't want the second party to give women's parties a bad name among Sherpas. She mentioned that I was the climbing leader, so I said that if Frances proved to be the natural leader, I'd willingly hand over to her, but Monica assured me that it wouldn't be so (and as Monica knows nothing about me, it seemed poor compliment to Frances) that Frances wasn't particularly good technically, but was mad about mountains – time will tell.
In the same group were Alan Hargreaves and Bob Upton. Bob seemed rather disgruntled over this expedition business – apparently the Rucksack Club have a bigger expedition lined up and Bob was complaining that, while he could afford to go, he couldn't afford to lose his salary for six months – it was alright for a woman, she had no responsibilities!
Eventually we returned to Raw Head for tea, and so to bed.
I don't think it was despite, but because of the alarm waking me before 8 o'clock, that I stayed in bed until about 9 o'clock!
We didn't hurry over breakfast (I had used my total supplies on the Saturday, so I had to wait for someone else to produce supplies for Sunday). I was interrupted half way through. As though Dave Thomas hadn't depressed me enough by telling me Gwen's opinion of Mrs. D. he called in Nancy Smith who gave me her opinion of her! Eventually breakfast was over. Stan had arrived from the D.G. and he and Clive wanted to climb a gully on Bowfell, but my party refused to go up that way again, so we packed our things in the car and left about mid-day for Helvellyn.
We left the car at Wythburn and started up. At first there was a little sunshine, but it didn't last for long, soon we were in mist, and gently falling snow, and then a cold wind. Diane and I started ahead, but then Alan overtook us both and Diane drew ahead. I was rather shocked when two young girls were coming up very rapidly, but they suddenly dropped right behind.
We sat far too long on the top and got thoroughly chilled, but finally started down towards Sticks Pass, only to find that we'd followed the track towards Thirlspot, instead of continuing along the ridge, but we thought time was pressing, so we continued on down (time had stopped us making the Striding-Swivel edge circuit). It was rather a dicey descent, the new snow disguised the slabs of clear ice! At Thirlspot we asked about tea, but found that we'd have half an hour to wait, so walked back to the car, changed and drove to Kendal for a cooked tea. We drove on, the snow still falling steadily, but not making the roads too bad. I misdirected Alan at one point, and we went through Bolton, but from then on the way was straightforward, to Manchester where we stopped for Jean to catch her bus, we went in a café for a cup of tea. The further south we got, the thicker the snow became and Alan wasn't making his usual time, and arrived at Derby at 11 o'clock – a quarter of an hour after Diane's last bus; I don't think he was too pleased about the diversion. He got me home at about 12 o'clock.
I had sworn never to travel by night if I had time to go by day, but that didn't mean that I'd spend all my nights on beds or even on a lilo!
I caught the train at about 9 a.m. from Brighton, had plenty of time to get across to Euston for the Lakes Express at about mid-day – Shades of the old days, when it was such a great adventure to go from Euston Station to Langdale! I considered my unemployed state and refused the offer of a ticket for lunch, but I'm afraid I ate chocolate instead, saved my sandwiches in case my need should become greater.
Presently I went along to afternoon tea and at about 6 o'clock reached Windermere in the pouring rain. There was a handy bus to Ambleside and another to Chapel Style and then I had to walk to Langdale – it was raining, and I still had on my dress and sandals, and the lower part of my dress got rather wet, although my plastic mac protected me higher up.
At the head of the valley I called in the old D.G. and Middlefell, but could get no accommodation, so I changed into boots and set out up the Blea Tarn road. I hadn't made up my mind whether to try to get accommodation or not. I was meeting Joy in Wasdale, but wasn't keen on setting out up Esk Hause at 8 o'clock at night – it would mean that I was walking for all the hours of darkness, for there was no shelter that way and the rain didn't look like stopping. I started up the Blea Tarn road, soon taking off my dress and walking in pants and woolly! I hesitated about seeking accommodation at Blea Tarn House or Little Langdale, but thought better of it and then turned down my idea of creeping into a barn at Fell Foot, and continued up over the Wrynose Pass. The rain fell steadily the whole time. As I approached Cockly Beck, the light was on, but turned out just before I arrived, at nearly 11. I nosed around a barn, found a jeep, nice and dry in a shed, and wondered whether to join it, but decided it was a little too close to the head. I looked under the bridge, as I had under all the others, in case there was dry sleeping room! The I went down to the three barns marked on the map. I was trying the doors, looking for a hay barn, but a dog barked, so I retreated hurriedly and finally went into an open shed, and spread newspaper, a pack-a-mac and finally a sleeping bag on the ground and ate half my sandwiches before turning in. I spent quite a happy night, although there were many distractions – there was the rain pattering on the roof, the water streaming from the roof, the dog barking or whining and, just occasionally something else would wake me up. All the sounds would stop and there'd be silence, but only for a moment. I woke up finally at 6 o'clock and was loath to get up, but thought I'd better go before the farmer got up, and I left at 6.30 – the weather didn't improve, but it was interesting to cross the Hardknott road. In Eskdale I thought of having breakfast at the Burnmoor, but it was too early, so I started up by the Woolpack and over Burnmoor. The wind was really strong here and I began to feel the weight of my pack for the first time – eventually I reached the tarn and then it wasn't far down to Wasdale. I wasted time getting onto the road – I couldn't quite visualise the campsite – I recognised the gate when I saw it and turn in – I didn't recognise any of the tents, but went up to one and found Joy all in blue. I was introduced to Sheila and Pearl and told that they were all off to Whitehaven for the day – Good idea, I said and they waited while I changed into dry clothes and we drove off.
At Whitehaven it was still raining; we drove round and round the miserable place, eventually found a café for lunch and shops to buy more provisions, and so back to camp for tea. Sheila and Pearly disappeared and returned to say that they'd booked accommodation in the hotel. We all ate in camp and then Joy and I spent the rest of the evening enjoying the hospitality of our better off friends. They'd never camped before and hadn't had much sleep the night before.
We were up in reasonable time, Joy did all the work, the cooking and washing up. I don't know what she thought of me just sitting and watching. We all walked up Scafell Pike but it was a little tedious, as we were so slow, and Sheila needed so much encouragement. We stopped for lunch on the way up and when we reached the summit cairn it was in mist, but waiting about half an hour, we got fair views.
We were by no means the only people up there and I was rather delighted at the old custom of greeting everyone.
Joy insisted that we made a round of it and we went along towards Great End, but avoiding the summit and down onto the other path just below Esk Hause. We walked round Sprinkling Tarn as Joy was trying to persuade Pearl, the hardy soul, to have a dip. Then down by Sty Head and on to Wasdale. I ordered tea at Burnthwaite – got there just before 6 o'clock. Joy was some way back as her knee was giving her trouble on the way down. After the enormous tea, we were incapable of eating another meal that night. I was interested to observed that, on the whole, hunger and thirst didn't seem to trouble me. Once more we spent the evening in the Wasdale Head Hotel.
We struck camp and started on the journey to Buttermere. It was a lovely morning for watching the hills, and it was a lovely ride, I hadn't realised that the other end of Ennerdale was so lovely. Then we went by Loweswater, with the superb view up Buttermere, were too late for coffee at an hotel, and so by Crummack Water and Buttermere where Pearl and Joy had a swim, and we all lunched. We continued on up Honister. Joy insisted that she and I should walk, and at the top, Sheila admitted that it had been a good idea. We stopped at the top and Joy, Pearl and I walked up Dalehead. My boots had rubbed the backs of my ankles, so I walked in Joy's plimsolls – Joy reached the summit first, and started shrieking, but Pearl and I were in plenty of time to photograph the very brilliant rainbow, over the vale of Newlands. We sat and chatted for quite a long time, reluctant to tear ourselves away. We then drove down to Borrowdale and on to Rosthwaite to buy supplies before the shop closed, then we returned to Seatoller to the old campsite, but it was too dirty to use. Joy went over the bridge and to Thorneythwaite and got permission to camp there, and then we had tea at Yew Tree Cottage. Sheila and Pearl tried to get in the Scafell, but were recommended to try Mrs. Bland nearby. They were very impressed with their 9/6 bed and breakfast. Joy and I camped and our "better off friends" lit us a fire which we sat round for some time.
It was another good day, we drove round by Derwent Water, walked partway to Friar's Crag, and then left Keswick, drove by Thirlmere to Grasmere for coffee at the Red Lion, and more supplies bought in the stores. Then we went on via Ambleside to the Old D.G. where we ordered a meal for the evening. We got permission to camp at Middlefell Farm, but decided against it, found a Stool End field where we finally camped, with the car by the tents. Sheila and Pearl were going to give this camping another chance!
After lunch we strolled up by Blea Tarn and encircled it, but not with dry feet! Joy and I then went up Side Pike, and so down to camp for tea and to change into skirts. The meal at the old D.G. wasn't what we'd hoped. The main course was fish, and the atmosphere in the room was so different from on a climbing weekend.
I wasn't in a hurry to get away, for I said that the Polaris wouldn't be ready before 10 or 11, actually when I arrived at 9.30, Diane and Pete Barry had already set off for Bowfell. I found that the club were camping in the Middlefell field and the first person Joy was able to introduce me to was Ron, very energetic on his one leg. Arthur was there, and Derek, with much to tell me about Canada and the Alps. I was particularly interested in his tales of the Canadian Alpine Club – the way the older members hold back the younger ones. Marjorie and David Martin were the surprising ones; I put my sack into Marjorie's tent and there was another new boy – John. Sooner than I expected, we were all ready to set off, and I was led towards Bowfell. I got out the rope I'd kept hidden all week. I wasn't the only one in plimsolls, Derek had set out without his boots and so had bought a pair on the way.
Arthur led (I hadn't wanted to go to Bowfell at all) and we went up Rossett Ghyll – Derek was glad to find that the club could still walk! – but I was glad I'd avoided the challenge of the double Marsden-Edale.
Derek and I were ahead by the time we'd traversed to the foot of the climbs; we found Diane and Pete not far up the Cambridge climb, not making much progress. Derek and I were to lead through, but I gave up after 10 ft. Derek led the first pitch. I led to the Crevasse, but wisely stopped before it, although I was in rubbers – they were Joy's and too big! Derek led the Crevasse and then up the Hell's Loose. I think I looked at the next pitch, but gave up, and Derek led the rest. The climb doesn't get any easier!
Derek hadn't been in the least impressed and so we went down to get in some better climbing on Raven Crag, but once more Derek was equally disappointed. He led up Original route 'Centipede' – didn't consider it the least 'severe' and then up one of the 'walls' – we hadn't a guide book.
That evening we went to the New D.G. to avoid the crush at the Old.
Gimmer was the order of the day and once more Derek proved himself far too good for me. We started up Bracket and Slab. I nearly turned back quite low down, where I didn't remember any difficulty from previous times, then when we came to the chimney I expected to enjoy it, only to find I couldn't get up it, and I preferred the easier one – shame! Then we went down and up 'Ash Tree Slabs' which went alright, and continued up 'A' route – towards the top. I was beginning to enjoy it and feel I was developing a taste for better things, but that was the end of the climbing.
Ernest promised me a lift to Manchester and Derby, but we didn't get much beyond Kendal, it began to dawn even on Ernest that he must be doing great harm to his car, running it when it was making that noise, so we abandoned ship and trained from Kendal. I had been so looking forward to my period of unemployment so that I would be able to travel by day, and here I was returning by night, just as though I had to work the next morning.
Having all day to unpack and wash
??M/S PAGES MISSING [126 and 127] hand numbering goes from 125 (I think) to 128??
back in five hours – near London we were stopped for speeding, but Ted looked in the back for his driving licence and when the police saw the climbing ropes etc. they were most considerate! Eric took the girls home from Cornwall Gardens and Ted took Hamish to his hospital and then took me on to London Bridge Station, when I snuggled down in the 3.20 and slept until it started. We arrived before I expected and I missed Preston Park Station and had to walk home from Brighton.
About a couple of hours in bed and I had to get up to catch the train to be in time for the T.V. rehearsal.
After my interview at Glaxo's I returned to the Sun for lunch and then 'bus'd' to Ambleside. I was undecided what to do, but eventually found the Y.W.C.A. and stayed there. It was a good idea, for it was cheap and friendly.
I walked via Tilberthwaite to Coniston. It was misty, so I'm afraid I didn't go over the tops and spent my extra time in the Ruskin Museum, until it was time to go to tea with Mrs. Bryan and Miss Pirie. Nancy Carpenter was staying with them and her husband arrived from Nottingham. I caught the bus back in the evening.
It was a glorious morning and I walked along the ridge, up and down, until I reached Stickle Tarn, from where I made my way to the north of Pavey and then up Harrison Stickle. The tops were in mist by this time, so I descended and treated myself to a tea at the old D.G. and bus'd back to Ambleside.
I left at 8 o'clock and made my way to the Roaches and met the Club.
I caught a train 3 minutes too early at Preston Park and it didn't stop at Redhill, so I kept on it to London Bridge, arriving with the Crowds at 9 o'clock. The officials were most courteous and helped me to put my pack in the brake, so that I could squeeze into the train, and soon I was at Waterloo, from where, in 10 minutes there was a train to Aldershot. I arrived only 5 minutes later than I should have done had I changed at Redhill.
It was a lovely morning, crisp and frosty and sunny, just the day for seeing England, but not from the back of a motorbike! Pete picked me up at the station, and we went through Reading, Oxford, Bridgenorth etc., but I was too cold to enjoy it; we stopped occasionally at cafés – the second time was at Llangollen, and I thawed out, but it didn't last for long. I got Pete to stop at Plas-y-Brenin, so that I could enquire about voluntary instructors, but the man didn't seem to think I'd be any use at all; however, he saw how in need of heat I was and put me in front of the stove and got me a cup of tea, so I couldn't grumble.
We went on through Beddgelert, Ryd Ddu and then up the track as far as possible before leaving the bike and walking up to the Cwm. I had been told that we were hutting. Fortunately I had my sleeping bag, and Pete lent me everything else.
We were awakened in the early hours by the arrival of the others.
It was a lovely bright morning, but cold, the rocks would have been cold (the sun hadn't yet reached them), so we decided to ridge walk. Once on the ridge we could see over the snow capped Snowdon and Derek and Pete immediately set off to walk to it. I knew I'd never keep up so I stayed with the other party (Diane, Joy, Bob, Ernest and Ron) an inspiration to watch. We reached camp just with the last of the light, had tea, and then were driven to Ryd Ddu, where we met the other two and were driven back to camp.
It was wet, so we decided to pack up and climb on the way home. It was Bob who suggested the climb – Lockwood's Chimney! It was wet, so I got the key to the Pinnacle Club hut and we lit a fire. The brave souls then went out and did the climb, but I stayed in the hut. Soon it was time for Pete to start home. I saw him to his bike and left him, the showers were very heavy and I didn't want to get soaked and then have to sit on the bike for the next 6 hours or so. It was a shame, for Pete had arranged for his landlady to put me up. I accepted a lift with Ernest to the Spread Eagle and then bus'd to Wolverhampton where Joy put me up. We both caught the London train the next morning, as Joy had an interview.
Time was my own, so no night journeys! The connection I had been told of at Llandudno Junction didn't run to Bettws, so I had to go on to Bangor and spend the night there! I reached Cwm Glas Mawr in good time and went in to find no-one else about. I cooked my breakfast and then started walking towards Ynys Ettws, hoping I hadn't mistaken the weekend, when I found tents in the usual spot. They'd been told that the hut was already booked.
We went towards Lliwedd – Pat, Alan and Don made one rope, the rest of us wanted to have a farewell climb with Bob. I hadn't the guide with me, Bob had one, and Ernest had done the route before – Primitive Route. We had trouble crossing the ice of the gully to get to the foot of it. Unfortunately, we were too far to the right, and weren't on a route at all, but we had fun; there was snow on the ledges, and there was one pitch of climbing which I was called on to lead. Bob was in front, I was second, and Ernest behind. Bringing up the rear were Diane and Pete. We were very slow, Ernest would want to take in Pete's rope, instead of leaving it to Diane. It was quite amusing to hear "Ernest you have three ropes again", as Ernest tried to move up.
We were half in and half out of the mist, we could see over to Crib Goch, where it was brilliantly fine; I was longing to get to the top of our peak, but we only just reached it before dark, and started down at once. The way down was icy and Ernest had fun. Bob and I went on and we all met for tea at the Pen-y-Pass and so on down to Ynys Ettws by invitation of Ron Sparks, the meet leader (he'd traversed Crib Goch under snow conditions, but said he'd blistered his hands too much to go out the next day). Pat, Alan and Don were missing and we were making plans for the search the next day, when they walked in - just as the tea was made.
It was rather a late start, the tops were in mist; we started by going down the valley and then up onto the Glyders – Ernest eventually gave up, realised that he was hindering us too much and retreated. We followed the Esgair Felyn Ridge road to the top of Glyder Fawr, on to the Fach and then down in the direction of the Miners Track only to abandon the track as the others wanted to cut back to the Pen-y-Pass. Somewhere we must have crossed the track and we eventually got out of the mist and found we were considerably to the east, even of the Pen-y-Gwryd. I had left Chris' phone number in case there was a message about my expected interview at Southport, but I hadn't expected one. When Chris saw me he told me that my mother had phoned and that my interview wasn't until Friday and I was to write by return of post.
Soon I set out to walk to Capel, but it was raining, and I was getting even wetter than the hill walk had made me. I was surprised when a Nottingham bus came along. I knew the Polaris one wasn't due, but the bus stopped and I got in. It was the Rock and Heather Club; I hadn't realised that there were two buses from Nottingham. They asked me what I was doing, and I said that it was really too complicated. I was going to Capel to await two buses. One was the Polaris bus which contained my sac, and my case of interview clothes (quite unnecessary, I realised by now). Then I was awaiting the London bus from Ogwen, for I had arranged to see Monica Jackson on it, in case we wanted to stay on for another day or so. I didn't want to stay on and I couldn't imagine Monica would in this dreadful weather, but I had promised to see her. I alighted at Capel and sheltered under a doorway, but realised I should get cold if the buses were late.
The Polaris bus was on the dot, and I was able to put on a dry woolly. There were two London buses, and I was able to get a lift on one of them, not Monica's unfortunately. Just past Shrewsbury the other bus broke down and we spent the next few hours waiting for it – eventually they took us to a pub to wait and then decided to go on alone. We reached London at about 6 o'clock and I was home for a late breakfast. How wonderful to make up for a few of the lost hours sleep in the afternoon.
I had shown my slides to the Polaris at Derby on the Saturday, been put up by Pat and Alan for the night, and the next morning started for Wales, meeting Monica Jackson at Crewe. Monica was a little worried over the connections, but fortunately we were able to get a bus to Caernarvon and then on to Nant Peris, and soon on to the hut at Cwm Glas Mawr, not the most cheerful of huts. We had some supper and soon went to bed, but not to sleep. There were creatures moving about all night. They kept kicking the buckets (must have been rats to be big enough to do that), but more constantly they were tearing paper. We had three newspapers with us and I really expected to find nothing left by the morning, that the whole floor would be covered with the shreds, rather like looking out of a window after a snow storm. Monica got up once or twice and flashed her torch, but could see nothing. I didn't bother, but the next morning, we looked around and found that nothing had been touched, our food was intact and also the newspapers.
The day was not at all promising, but I knew Monica was keen to go out, so I suggested the Parson's Nose (it's fun to be with someone who doesn't know the obvious climbs). Monica didn't think a rope would be necessary for a mod., so I thought I wouldn't start at the bottom. It was pouring with rain when we reached the rocks and we started to the left of the East Gully. I found the climb quite hard enough in those conditions. I was looking for the easiest way all the time, while Monica was looking for difficulties (I think we followed the same line in the end). Above the climb we sometimes had to fling ourselves on the ground if a gust of wind was coming our way. I was glad we hadn't roped, it would have been too cold for words waiting for each other.
It was some way on to the top of Crib-y-Ddysgl and then it seemed miles down to the top of the zigzags – I couldn't really understand how Monica managed, being so light in weight.
It was a relief to get over the edge and start down. We no longer thought of a drink at Pen-y-Pass, our only wish was Cwm Glas with our dry clothes. We missed the Pen-y-Gwryd track and followed the Miners Track, but the causeway was under waters, so we cut up to the col before Crib Goch, went some way down the track and then cut down to the road, and so to 'home'.
We put on dry clothes and then started worrying about the fire – I thought all that was needed was for the gas poker to be lit beneath the coke, but Monica had more sense and knew it would need wood. It was very slow starting, in fact it was only really heating up when we went to bed. We decided to sleep in front of it, wondering whether we'd frighten away the 'things'. I slept reasonably well, but Monica had the 'things' playing with her hair, apparently.
After as wild a night as I can remember, the next morning was quite pleasant. Our clothes weren't dry, so we decided to climb on the Three Cliffs in our 'going home' clothes.
We went up to the Cromlech and led through up Flying Buttress and Spiral Stairs – it was a delightful day and we should have got in several more climbs, but a few spots of rain sent us back to Cwm Glas, afraid of getting our clothes wet.
We had plenty of time to clear up the hut and then walked to Llanberis where we picked up the bus. The Caernarvon bus was labelled Llandudno and Monica thought it a good plan to go all the way to save changing. We had to change buses at Bangor and Conway! We caught an earlier train to Crewe from where Monica caught the midnight to London. I settled down in the Ladies waiting room and had a fair night's sleep. In the morning, I had a 4d. wash, and a lovely room for changing into my interview clothes (left in a suitcase on Crewe station) and was in Birmingham in good time for my interview at Oldbury.
After my interview in Manchester I had a meal and caught the train to Wales just after 5.30. I left my case of interview clothes on Chester station, but my rucksack was fairly heavy as it contained my slides. To my delight at the Junction there was a diesel waiting, and I was soon at Bettws where I was invited to share a taxi to Capel. I had intended to walk to the Pinnacle Club hut, but weakened and thought I'd make use of my life membership of the Y.H.A. and stay at the hostel. It was quite pleasant, only three others there, young people just discovering the hills.
I set out to walk to Cwm Dyli; I can't think why I didn't try to thumb a lift, for it meant that I wasted all the morning.
I was interested as I made my way down the old road, for I saw that the fire was lit, and I realised that I was following vibrams. At the hut I found that Marjorie had come down from the Pen-y-Gwryd to give the hut an airing. She supplied me with sandwiches and coffee, and then I went up the opposite hillside. Soon I was on the snow, lovely powder snow – it was a beautiful day – and up to the top of the ridge. Siabod looked tempting, but I thought it would be more of a change to go south along the ridge, but I didn't go very far, returned to the hut where I met Marie Grutter.
I went up to the Pen-y-Gwryd for a chat that evening. Sylvia Greenwood arrived in good time and about six more in the small hours.
I made my way up to the Pen-y-Gwryd where I was shown my room which I was sharing with Marie (we were spending one night in the hotel).
Eventually a party set out and I joined it. I consisted of Nea and Denise and their three guests, Charles Evans, John Clegg and Jim Simpson. Another hanger-on was Judy Hall – who'd travelled all night, come down to the hut and up again – very keen.
We walked up the road, along the Miners Track, making for a gully. When I first reached the Pen-y-Gwryd it had been snowing there, but it was raining when we set out; however, we eventually got up into the snow again – it was very slushy under foot. We passed two tents at the foot of the zigzags and then continued up. Charles had rather naturally got in front and I had every confidence in him. The last book I had read was his "On Climbing", with his neat little diagram, illustrating the Trinity Gullies and, although the mist was thick and I had no idea where I was, I thought he must know every inch! The way steepened and none too soon I thought; it was suggested that we should rope up. We stayed in the same order, in front of me were Charles, Judy and John. Leading the next rope was Nea, with Denise and Jim behind. The first two got up without a great deal of trouble; they had nails. John was slower, he had vibrams, and so had I, so I could understand when it was my turn. Nea had nails for leading the second rope (my nails were still with all my things in Nottingham).
I didn't enjoy the lower part at the time, Charles had no idea where he was, the way consisted of iced rocks, with some loose snow, and the way looked steep and even more difficult higher up. I was so afraid that we'd have to retreat down it all again. There was one easy traverse to the right, and then up more iced rocks. I tried to step up onto some snow where there was a vibrams impression, but the snow was loose on the ice, and I went down about 4 feet, to my utter shame. Then up soft snow and a final little climbing pitch on the snow and then one more pitch and we were up – by this time I realised that I was thoroughly enjoying myself, having the time of my life! Then followed slopes at an easy angle, but they still needed care in vibrams. We came out just a few yards to the left of the summit cairn. We waited there in a howling blizzard and had a little to eat. Someone gave me a sandwich. I could see from the colour that it was thick with mustard, but I couldn't taste it at all and I had great trouble in forcing it down. Eventually the other rope arrived, and we started for the top of the zigzags. I held my hand to my face to protect it from the blizzard. At long, long last we were over the top, and in the calm and awaiting the second rope.
The way down was easy, all soft snow, and soon we stopped to unrope - all but Judy, who couldn't untie her knot. I'm afraid when Jim came along to help I left them to it, so that I could go on and get warm. Once we were below the mist we could see over to our climb – it was so interesting to pick out our route. We went along the track, but the way was very wet. For a few moments, I bitterly regretted not having my camera, it was so clear and bright to the east. John got on ahead and the others were behind (Charles and Nea had new boots and hence blisters). I made my own way back to the Pen-y-Gwryd. I arrived at about 6.30, the same time as Pat and Jean, and I begged some biscuits from them, for I had missed tea. I just had nice time for a bath and change before 7 o'clock. Marie didn't seem to mind my invading the room with Pat and Jean from the hut.
At the dinner I was seated nearer the top table, for a change; I was between Pip Styles and Evelyn, Dr. Corbett.
It was the usual sort of a meal, and then I was called out for a phone call and missed 'The Queen'. The speeches were quite short. Winifred Jackson proposed 'The Guests', to which Mrs. Dickson responded. Mr. Kirkwall of the Rucksack Club proposed the Club and Mrs. Bryan responded.
Then we retired to the billiards room. This all seemed a little silly to me, we'd had a jolly good day out, and now we were well dined and wined and were much too drowsy to concentrate on slides; it was nearly 10 o'clock. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to concentrate on them myself, and this was my one chance to show them to the climbing world. How wrong I was. They were just in the mood to be amused - too much so. They laughed too much. At times I couldn't think there was anything funny, so wondered if they were laughing at me! In a predominantly female gathering some masculine laughs were conspicuous and one I could pick out was John's, who was on the rope in front of me. The part which amused him most was when I said my usual bit about Nangyal standing over me and diverting Ming Ma's chips which were coming down in the direction of my head. I made it more topical by starting by saying that I had reason to think of him that day as the snow would knock me on the head.
I was up in good time, but found that my clothes were still soaking. Fortunately someone else lent me a pair of pants.
Nea's blisters were keeping her in. Pat and Jean were up in good time from the hut and were setting out for Bristly Ridge. I fancied a little rock-climbing, but Denise went off with the three guests and I was left with Maud. I thought she might make a better companion on a rope than she did off, but I was out of humour with her by the time we started – she kept me waiting 2 hours while she dried her clothes. We walked down to Carreg Wasted for Crackstone Rib. A boy was trying to take his girl up it for her first climb; fortunately she had more sense and they retreated and we were able to start. I was surprised to find that the holds on the ridge were as small as when I did it in nails. It was after the ice of the previous day that I felt I couldn't trust my vibrams, although the rock was dry and sun-warmed this day. There would have been plenty of time for another climb, but it wasn't an inspired day and we returned. Denise had done Sabre Cut, we realised later.
After tea I was sitting on in the bar, when I was suddenly called in to the committee meeting, to my utter astonishment I was asked to stand as the next President – to take office at Easter. The Pinnacle Club of all clubs, the club which never approved of me! I was promised a wonderful time – to spend my time going about eating other clubs' dinners – the speech next February was glossed over, of course!
Marie, Evelyn and I stayed at the hotel for dinner, before going down to the hut for dinner. We found that Beryl Coats and Ann Percival had arrived there.
The three of us walked up to the Pen-y-Gwryd and Chris gave us a lift to Capel, where I caught the Chester bus, with Mrs. Pichen, who'd been staying in Capel.
I travelled by day from Euston with Jill Robinson. A diesel was waiting at the Junction to take us to Bettws and there we got a bus to Capel Curig. We started to walk to the hut, but after a mile or so we were resting when a very old Rolls Royce came along and stopped. It was Charles Marriott's and he gave us a lift to the Pen-y-Gwryd from where it was a pleasant walk to the hut, on this lovely evening.
Six of us set out together to walk round to Crib Goch Buttress. The party consisted of Jill, Maud Godward, Ada, Pat Parsons and Virginia Dekenham, who had arrived that morning. We started as two ropes, but all joined together for the pull up. Pat retreated at the foot of this pitch. The wall was a little wet below the step across and I tried putting on rubbers and a sock over, but then found I didn't need to use that hold at all. I got a runner above me before I made the move, and once across I thought it had all been nothing! Jill could reach the high hold from the Pinnacle. At the top I traversed to the right, I am afraid, but some of the others came straight up.
From the top we continued down to the col, rejoined Pat and continued round the horseshoe, and arrived back at the hut in a state to appreciate cups of tea to the full.
It was a perfect day, and a large party went round to Gwern-y-Gorff Uchaf and up to Heather Terrace. There was quite a race for the Pinnacle party to stake their claim at the foot of Grooved Arête, and we had to wait a little while before our first party could start. I'm a little vague as to the exact order, I think Denise took Dorothea and Margaret, Nea took Maud, and I had Virginia and Shirley. The route was 'going' all right until the grooves, when I came to the thin part. I was hesitating (I never liked it) wishing I had on rubbers instead of vibrams (although the rock was bone dry), when Nea looked over and suggested keeping an eye on me. I said an eye wasn't much good (thinking of Betty Emery) and she offered me a rope which I accepted (what a change from the first time I did it, leading in the rain in hob-nailed boots!). At the terrace I left my sack and changed into rubbers, thinking we'd go on climbing on the wall. I don't know whether it was the rubbers, but the next part went very easily. At the top I found that the rest of the party were hungry and had gone right down to Heather Terrace, so Virginia and I had to do the same, calling on the way to collect my things. We descended the top part of North Buttress, but then I lost the way and we came down the gully and rejoined the others.
It started wet and people such as Evelyn and the Morins were going to stay in, and I hoped to join them, but some of these keen young things wouldn't hear of it, so I found myself going out, to the familiar wet weather crag. Virginia had climbed very well the previous day, so at the foot of Lockwoods I suggested she led (I hope it wasn't only that I hated the thought of the greasy rock myself). Virginia made a fine job of the lead, climbing with great confidence in her vibrams (I think she has served a fair scrambling apprenticeship). I followed and Jill brought up the rear; then Dorothea Gravina led her youngest boy Tim on a second rope. The youngsters had nothing on her where keenness was concerned, and she climbed beautifully.
The crack below the chimney was definitely the crux, the chimney itself did not cause nearly enough trouble. As we began to emerge at the top, we could hear another party below, and we stopped to watch then came out, they were having such fun. It was Charles Marriott and a party from Helyg; they seemed to enjoy it as the pioneers must have done. The party consisted of a Major, retired Major, Bombardier, Physicist and Doctor. Back at the hut the keen young things hadn't had nearly enough and we realised that it had stopped raining, so Dorothea suggested driving us somewhere. I suggested that we went to the coast and, armed with the club guide to Tremadoc, we set off. The most suitable climb seemed to be the Hound's Head Buttress, so we did that, although it is the only one I have done there. We found Trevor Jones doing the variation start. We followed the others and omitted the first pitch. I found the next pitch very pleasant and brought up Dorothea and went on up a more strenuous crack. Jill and Virginia were fitting in together very well on the second rope; Virginia led the more delicate lower part, but she was glad of Jill to lead the crack.
I was able to watch Trevor on the last pitch, saw where to get a runner etc. When it was my turn they watched me up, and gave me advice, for instance told me I must get my left foot as well as my right in the crack. I found it quite strenuous enough at the top, but Dorothea had no trouble in following. The girls also tied onto our rope for this pitch.
Tim had come up the easy side and was eager to rappel down, so all the party did that, apart from the last man.
Once more transport was provided round to the other valley, and Denise led us to the foot of the Devil's Staircase, which she had climbed with Charles in the winter.
I had never seen Denise at work before, and when she had difficulty in getting off the ground I began to get in quite a state, I didn't realise that she was in the habit of putting on an act. I suggested to my rope that we should avoid this, but Dorothea was made of sterner stuff and wouldn't hear of it. Once she had made the first move, Denise was soon up, and Nea followed with no trouble, and then they offered me a rope down which I gratefully accepted. With the rope it all went much more easily than I had expected; I must remember in future that the Morins are only human! The first three up wore socks over their rubbers or P.A.s, but Dorothea came up in vibrams in fine style. Margaret brought up the rear.
After the first pitch, the route was easy and great fun, there were places where it narrowed to a chimney. There was one place where it was necessary to make a hold, step to the left, and long before I expected, we were out at the top, with Tim to meet us and show us the way down. At the bottom we med Winifred Jackson and we all had an egg tea at Dol Llech.
Everyone had left, apart from the Morins and Evelyn and Antonia, and I joined this party on their ride to Criccieth and Black Rock Sands.
The Morins had made some useful contacts in the Pen-y-Gwryd the previous evening and Evelyn ran the three of us to Plas-y-Brenin where Denise showed us over. I wasn't sure what was happening and eventually Denise got in John Disley's car with Gordon and Maureen, and Nea and I boarded Trevor Peck's van with Peter Biven and Cliff. We garaged at Helyg and had rather a race up. John and Denise in front, I was next, with Maureen and Gordon behind and the other four in the rear. On the col the four all changed into P.A.s and went down to the foot of the climb. I waited for the others; Nea also changed, but the others didn't bother. Neither did I, for I knew it would be too far to walk in my rubbers.
When we reached the climb, the others didn't seem to have made much progress; we saw Dizzy trying to knock in a peg and then saw him and Denise do the reverse mantelshelf. We saw Maureen swing on the second pitch and hear often quoted "Don't talk to me Gordon" just above, and then Peter led the first pitch, with Nea next and Cliff third. There had been much talk of this; once, apparently Denise had failed to get off the ground, and it was called the hardest pitch on the climb, so when I was asked if I was joining on I said yes, I'd see if I could manage the first pitch, feeling rather unwanted and thinking the kindest thing for me to do was to say I wouldn't climb that day, but I've turned away my chances before. I thought I'd let this first pitch determine whether I came on or not. To my delight it went alright. It was a little strain on the fingers, and I thought it ought to be done quickly, but everything was there for holds and I was soon joining the party on the grass ledge, but not alas in the sun. It had left the gully when Trevor and I were in it, and it was to creep gradually up the climb in front of us, so that we were quite cold at times. I didn't really watch Maureen on the reverse Mantelshelf, but she seemed to have no trouble on it, which rather cheered me. I was very afraid of the second pitch, so I grasped the belay sling and made full use of it and eventually I was up. Trevor amazed me, particularly on this pitch; he bridged it and came up superbly. He asked me if I'd take in his rope and I said I didn't mind so long as he wouldn't rather have it taken in by someone he knew. This was a silly idea for he had so much in hand that the taking in of his rope was only a formality. I was again in a state before the reverse mantelshelf; I was afraid that, if I hadn't enough for my hands they might be whipped from their holds if I went down too quickly. I needn't have worried, I was well held from both sides, too well at one point. I had my own method, I had my left hand to the left, on the higher ledge, and still reached the foot hold, then had a delightful step to the right, and then a very delicate step. After that it was easier but exposed to the corner. Gordon had tried to put in a peg here, but Trevor eventually lifted it out with his hand! Next was the 'crux', the hand traverse, for which I had to find the right combination of holds to begin it and then I reached broad ledges! The next pitch needed working out and then I reached the stance below a steep little wall. Cliff had no trouble at all, and then it was my turn. It was steep and strenuous to the fingers; I started up, Trevor (unasked) holding my feet on, and then I reached a position from which I had to pull to the left and I couldn't do it. Cliff had been told not to use the block at the top and I had been trying to avoid it and that was my mistake. I didn't want to exhaust myself so I just let go and came down and then had a shoulder up the first part, and used the top block, and I was up.
After this, Pinnacle Wall seemed just a scramble, although it had one thin move in it. And so into the sunshine on the top, and back to the col, most people going directly, while I had to go down the gully to recover my boots, but they hadn't been long on the col when I arrived. It was getting on for 8 o'clock as we started down, a perfect evening, and the end of a wonderful day. The first four had long ago disappeared, but Trevor drove the five of us back to the Pen-y-Gwryd where Nea and I were able to get dinner, very much after hours, and then we joined Peter and co. in the bar.
Once more no-one seemed to be climbing, so I filled in the afternoon with a trip to the P.O. at Beddgelert to buy a few supplies and also take one or two valley photographs. In the evening we dined at the Pen-y-Gwryd with Peter, Trevor and Cliff.
We walked over to the Pass, Denise was wondering about a rope down for Spectre, but on the way we met the Morins' Harrison friend, Phillip Gordon and he offered to lead it. Denise went second and then Nea and there was a place in the rear for me, if I cared to take it. A Plas-y-Brenin party were at the foot when we arrived, and Dizzy warned me that the crack really was very strenuous. I had trouble enough with the first pitch and found that strenuous enough and sat at the foot of the crack very undecided. Nea didn't want to climb it on three quarter weight rope, but if she had that rope doubled that only left a single length for me, but we thought she could send me down a double length when she was up. Unfortunately for this plan, Nea thought she'd rather leave the rope behind her through a crab in the peg and this meant that I couldn't haul down the rope. I thought that she'd try to throw it down despite the wind, and I waited and waited for it; I thought that if Nea needed a double rope how much more necessary it was for me, and I waited and waited and nothing happened, so eventually I decided I was meant to climb on the single rope. I started up tentatively exploring the holds and seeing if I should be able to go on and soon realised that it was too difficult for me and shouted up for some slack so that I could retreat – I did a lot of shouting, but it had no effect whatsoever. I was most amused with myself, I would put one foot against the other wall to relieve the strain on the foot on which I was standing, and I'd stay on and on until I began to think of that piece of wall as a hold, and then I'd look around and see how I could move up another foot or so, and eventually there I was on the ledge below the overhang due for a good rest I thought, but no, the rope never slackened, and was pulling me out and I had to hang onto a peg to keep myself in balance, when I was so hoping to rest my poor fingers. I had been most amused at my thoughts on the way up "Fighting for her Life" came into my mind again and again. My camera was scratching against the rocks at one point, but what did I care what I did to my Leica. Once, as I peered round the corner it looked very black up the Pass. "Good, I hope it rains, then they'll know I'll have to go down" I thought, but although the wind was very fierce, the rain didn't come. I explored the holds of the overhang, realised that it worked out very nicely, but decided I hadn't enough left in my fingers and kept retreating to the ledge, where I could give my fingers no rest. Eventually I realised that if I put a crab through the top peg it would give me a little more to hang onto and that is what I did, and used the sling as a foothold and crawled out to the right in very bad style, to make my apologies to those I had delayed for so long. In fear and trembling I saw the others fight their way up the next crack. I felt the holds, moved a little way up, but realised I had taken too much out of myself on the lower pitch, and retreated round to Nea. We all enjoyed the last pitch. I had expected to rappel down to recover my sling, but Philip wouldn't hear of it, and insisted in climbing the crack again to recover it, and then climbing down again!
The three of us returned to the Pass, but then spent a few hours sitting in the sun with Peter and Trevor, by Philip's tent. Eventually a move was made down to the Grochan where Philip led Denise up the direct start of Brant and Trevor and Peter did the Ordinary Route. I was longing to climb, but no-one seemed climbing anything of my standard. I didn't feel I could suggest to Nea that we climbed and she didn't suggest it. Then along came Andrew, talking very big, and hoping Nea would climb, but she wouldn't bite; he ignored me and when Denise came back she suggested we should go up with Nea. I turned it down at first as I didn't particularly want to climb with Andrew, but then I thought it was silly to cut off my nose to spite my face, and eventually agreed. Andrew belayed half way up the first pitch and then went on to tackle the crux, but was soon down and suggesting a retreat. I knew that I had led it last time I had been this way, and assumed that I could lead it again, but I didn't suggest it. It amused me more to think that Andrew couldn't do it. I caught the others up in the Pass and near the top Trevor picked us up and gave us a lift to the Gwryd, and made us tea and gave us packets of frozen broad beans from his deep freeze. We had a final dinner at the Gwryd and so down to the hut.
Evelyn took my heavy pack to the Pen-y-Pass and then I walked down and, by a devious route, reached Bangor. The trains were against me and it was 7 o'clock before I reached Manchester. On the way I picked up my cases which I had left in Chester station for a week.
I caught the 5.35 from Manchester, and Monica joined the train at Chester. At Bettws I went to the front of a bus to read its destination, when someone called out "Do you want a lift Eileen?" It was Chris Briggs and he took us to Plas-y-Brenin, where Monica had booked us in.
It had started to rain in the night and continued in the morning, so Monica and I sat about until well after 11 o'clock. I was developing a cold, so I was particularly keen not to get too cold and wet. When the rain lessened we set out, got a lift part way, and then walked to Pen-y-Pass, where we had to decide where to go. It looked as though it was clearing so we went to Lliwedd, so as to leave the Three Cliffs for the shorter day on Sunday. Monica had a return match with Avalanche, so we went there and I led the traverse as Monica had done that the previous time. It worked out that I had the pitch by the quartz cycle, and it went more easily than last time I was this way, a dozen years ago – but last time I was in nails, now I had socks over my rubbers! For the rest of the route Monica had the interesting parts. This is because I believe in belaying at the foot of a difficulty, while Monica believes in running out 100 ft of rope when she gets the lead. Monica led the first pitch of Red Wall, but on the edge she couldn't reach the hold and had to use a sling. This pitch was certainly a lot easier than it was in nails. Later on Longlands continuation, I had the first pitch, but felt a little mean belaying before the other difficulties, but Monica didn't make much of them. Certainly they were lots easier in socks than I remembered them. At the top it started to pour in earnest and we hurried down to our boots, and to the Pen-y-Gwryd where Monica rang up to say we'd be late for supper – this was saved for us when we eventually arrived, the bus giving us a lift along.
Monica was rather lethargic and we made a late start. We made our way to the foot of Carreg Wasted, where Monica led Crackstone Rib. I followed up in vibrams and found it went a lot easier than it had done in February. Then we made our way along to the Grochan for Nea. As I had quoted the tale of Andrew quite freely, I was pleased to see that I could lead the first pitch of Nea; we led through, but I also got the last pitch. I was watching the time anxiously for I wanted to catch the 3 o'clock bus from Nant Peris, but it was more like 3.30 when I reached the road. It was quite a good place for getting a lift, for there were quite a number of cars watching the crags. A red car with German registration stopped for me and I got a lovely fast lift to Bangor station. I couldn't get the people sorted out. The driver seemed English, as also did the older lady, but in the back was a Burmese(?) girl. I had time for tea in the town before catching the 5.19 to Manchester.
This was the sort of May weekend I had always dreamed of having, perfect weather, good climbing, pleasant travelling, which didn't take up too much of my time and energy during the weekend.
I met Tim at 5.30, and had a pleasant drive to Wales; I was map reading, we went through Henllan I remember, and then we got onto a little lane with grass growing in the middle. It was a wonderful moment at the end, when we came out right above Llanrwst and had the whole of Snowdonia stretched out before us. There was the Horseshoe, Glyders, Tryfan and Carneddau. They weren't little hills in the distance as they are from the A5, but were real giants, silhouetted against the evening sky. Then we went down to Llanrwst, along past Trefriw, Dolgarrog etc. and then up the lane to Cwm Eigiau. It was a surprise to Tim, but at least I didn't have to get out and push this time, as I did with Arthur. We arrived with some of the Wayfarers and I found that Tim was an efficient camper, soon had his tent pitched, and we crawled into our bags.
Tim cooked the breakfast, and we were ready to set out, but waited for the others. Even so, we set out in front, expecting to be followed, but no, we arrived at the foot of Pinnacle Wall with no-one else in sight and proceeded to climb it, leading through, but I had the Wall. It went beautifully. I was over the difficulty before I noticed it! Then I had a problem, I had wanted to warm up on that and then go down to Mur-y-Niwl, but I wanted to be in a party of three on that, and there was no-one in sight. I worked out a scheme of tying two ropes together, so that, if someone came off over an overhang, the person who was left might have enough rope to lower him to a ledge. Fortunately Tim didn't think much of this idea!
We met Paul on top and chatted with him, had various ideas and eventually decided to do Great Gully. This was bone dry and all too easy, that is until the chimneying pitch, which it was Tim's turn to lead. I assured him that he was quite tall enough to lead it, but when I came to follow, I wasn't quite so sure! I had to use the loose chock I'm afraid, and I had many rests on the way up.
On the next to last pitch I had no difficulty, I used the route to the right and traversed in; Tim came up direct, dropped his compass down and descended it and tried my route for variety. Tim had the last pitch. Unfortunately he didn't have to "pirouette to the south". It was still rather early, but there seemed no other obvious climb to do and we descended to camp for afternoon tea. After supper a couple of cars descended to the 'local, to fill in the evening.
I had talked John Watson into Mur-y-Niwl, also Peter Leadbetter, who had arrived the previous evening. I thought we might get a party for the climb; I described it as technically no harder than Pinnacle Wall – it is sometimes useful when the climb is not in the guidebook! The boys went on and I was able to take my time getting to the foot of the climb. When I had been working out the climb during the night I had decided to use vibrams for the first pitch, in case I had to jump down, but I forgot that when I got there and changed into rubbers; however, all went well as far as the ledge, when I found it wasn't quite so easy to get on the belay. I couldn't lasso the knob. I didn't like to make the strenuous climb up to it without any protection, and I couldn't bring up a second without it. Eventually I saw the marks where a peg is driven in and I sent down a rope for the implements to be tied on (I preferred to climb without the extra weight). The peg went in with no trouble at all, gave a reassuring note and felt perfectly firm. John tried to come up second, but decided that his knee wasn't up to it, and Peter followed. When he arrived I made use of him and he climbed up and put on the belay, and I was able to remove the peg. Tim followed as last man. Fortunately Ernest didn't suggest trying! I did the next pitch awkwardly, but I sat in the niche and had a rest half way and then went up and tied onto the rock belay. Peter came up into the higher stance, and put in the next peg. A channel was required. Then I had Tim up to second me from the rock belay, and I set off for the reverse mantelshelf, which isn't nearly so intimidating the second time, although I may have appeared to be putting on an act to the rest of the party. When I came to the awkward traversing step, Tim asked me if I was safe. "No" I said. Fortunately he made no further comment; I thought it a dreadful confession of a leader, that she wasn't safe, but I was incapable of going into explanations just at that moment. When I was over, Tim flicked the rope, I found the top move a little exposed and then sat down to make the best of the small belay and brought Peter across. I had to go on before Tim could join us. It was some time before I could get started, and the wind seemed howling round that corner – it's unjustifiable to go on under these conditions. I wonder whether we can retreat, were my thoughts, but then I found the undercut left handhold and that enabled me to launch myself on the hand traverse, and I was over and onto real ledges!
We all gathered together again and then I started up a more nondescript pitch, although I found the moves still needed working out. Then I stopped before the last wall, and eventually managed to thread a runner through where the sides of a crack nearly meet, and I brought Peter up. I believe I held the interest of my party right to the end. There had been the first pitch – the most strenuous of the climb, then the second pitch, the most awkward, then there was the reverse mantelshelf and the peg runner etc., after which they were confronted with the crux, the hand traverse. Finally, below this last wall I announced that this was the pitch I couldn't do last time!
I had no ideas about not using the top block, and I know that if I had to climb it I could, but somehow I couldn't be bothered this time. I had Peter sitting and well belayed and I had Tim standing, with a well placed shoulder, and I'm afraid I used the shoulder and then swam over the top. What a glorious bilberry terrace that was, I'd never seen such a lovely one before. We went up to the beginning of the Quartz Ledge, and then Tim took over the lead of Pinnacle Wall. Peter followed him along the Ledge, and then Tim led up to the Pinnacle, while I waited, as Ernest wanted to join us. We shivered for quite a while until Ernest was arranged and then, taking infinite care, he made his way along the ledge and eventually it was my turn to follow. The wind was blowing into the corner and I was shivering, my hands were in my pockets and, as I watched Ernest climb the next pitch. I found they were sweating. It was some time before I could start to climb. There was much knitting at the Pinnacle and Peter had to come on. Eventually I started up and found the climb two grades harder than when I'd led it the previous day! Ernest told me afterwards that he didn't think it very safe, the way I made the awkward move, one knee and one foot on the wall behind! Then back and into the sunshine again and a leisurely stroll down for tea, a gossip, then to pack up and leave about 7 o'clock.
Once more we stopped for the view above Llanrwst, and once more we chose little lanes at times. There was quite a traffic hold-up the last few miles before we left the Liverpool traffic, but then we had no trouble. Tim knew his way round the back ways of Chester, and we reached Piccadilly soon after 10.30.
I caught the 9.25 bus from Manchester to Ambleside. There wasn't a bus to Langdale for hours, so I took a Coniston one to Skelwith Bridge and from there walked up the road, or old road to D.G. and then set out up Micheldene, Rossett Ghyll and by the track to Wasdale. At first I met a few people descending to Langdale, but then I had the place practically to myself. There was a grey sky and a few spots of rain on the way up Rossett, but it didn't come to anything, only made the place seem rather sombre. There were a few people about in Brackenclose, when I arrived about 8 o'clock, but I learned that the Pinnacle Club had gone to the hotel for dinner. Eventually I was able to sort out our food and made myself a cup of tea. On my way to the hotel, I met Vera Picken, with her family in a caravan, and we went to the hotel to meet Margaret and Maud, also Isobel and Bert Taylor who were staying there.
It was wet and our start was delayed partly by this, and partly by Arning's late arrival. The Taylors had left at about 7 a.m. to give Ada a lift from Seascale Station, but Arning's sleeper was on a later train and, when she arrived, she rang up the hotel and asked Bert to meet her.
Eventually, about 12 o'clock we set out, Maud and Marjorie to go to Burnmoor way, and the rest of us to walk along by the Screes. We lunched on the way, and at the other end, some people made a circuit of the lake and Ada, Margaret and I continued over to Eskdale. Just beyond Eskdale Green, we had tea, and then, ssh! we rang for a taxi to take us the 2 miles along the road to Burnmoor. I'm afraid I lost the track up to the Tarn, and we had a good look down Mitredale, but eventually reached the tarn, from where we soon dropped down to Brackenclose, where Ada and I found our supper cooked. Poor Margaret had a meal booked at the hotel and was a little late!
The weather was a little brighter so we made what for me is my traditional pilgrimage to Pillar on this day (I seem to go there whether I am staying in Buttermere, Borrowdale or Wasdale). I was rather hoping to try the North Climb, but two of the party hadn't done the New West, also that was the only climb Maud could lead, so we suddenly changed plans and made for the West Face. We meant to go via Jordan Gap, but I was in front and didn't know the way, and we found ourselves nearly at the top of Pillar mountain! There were two ropes in front of us and then Ada and I, and Maud and Margaret set off up. At the top, Ada and I rappelled down into Jordan gap and climbed up to await the others. I tried to make up for my bad route finding up to this point by going down to the foot of the climb and bringing up the sacks. We were much too late for a second climb, but had plenty of time for a stroll back over a few tops, over Pillar, Scoat, Steeple, Red Pike, and down the Dore Head screes. It was quite a pleasant evening, but the sun wasn't shining on Scafell, as I remember it on previous occasions when I have done that walk.
The view was good. Scotland and the Isle of Man were very clear, and we also imagined we could see Ireland.
We made our way to Scafell, and roped up at the foot of Moss Ghyll; unfortunately I wasn't following the guidebook and I avoided the lower chimneys, to the easier route on the right, the way we scramble up on the way to the Grooves. It was all too easy until I came to the Wall, which I later learned is spelt with a capital 'W'. I went a few feet up and retreated, and repeated the movement several times until my hands were beginning to feel a little limp. I sat to wait until the others were all up so that I could recover, when Ray Colledge appeared, solo-ing up behind us. He climbed the Wall and I was able to see where the holds were.
Whether it was after watching Ray, or the fact that all my party were watching me, I don't know, but next time I got up. It was bone dry, I should imagine it is quite a nice pitch when it is wet and greasy.
Margaret was soon up and while she was bringing up Ada and Maud, I went on to see the next pitch. It was a scramble as far as the 'Collie Step' pitch, where Ray was glad to have his rope belayed behind him. The Pinnacle party quite enjoyed the move, and then we were in the Amphitheatre and I was rubbing my hands at the sight of the chimney ahead, when my party let me know they would prefer the Collie exit – they preferred slabs. We were soon up, but I thought it an anti-climax. We went on to the summit cairn, and then descended Broad Stand, and so back to our sacks. I suggested another climb, and Margaret and Maud came up with Keswick Brothers. It went very easily in these dry conditions; I was following the book this time and making 20 ft pitches, until the top when there was a light hail storm, so I went on to a sheltered place.
Once more we came down Broad Stand. It was amazing the difference the little moisture on the rocks made. Ada, Arning and Marjorie had left in good time, but Maud had time for supper as the Taylors were giving her a lift to Liverpool for the night.
The weather was gradually improving ; this day was quite sunny, but there was still a cold wind blowing round the rocks. We went to Gable; it is worth the grind up Gavel Neaze from the traverse afterwards and we sat down for lunch by the Needle. It is twelve years since I was taken up it, so I was quite pleased to climb it again and left my vibrams on. I'm afraid I used a knee on the mantelshelf, this wasn't necessary, but just laziness on my part; however, my bad example, I am sure, made it much more difficult for the others. I thought the top holds were a little greasy for vibrams, but I was soon on the top and belaying round the block. I didn't like the belay and had plenty of time to think about it, as the others took it in turn to try the mantelshelf; it wasn't until afterwards someone said I should have had it under the overhang – I was glad I didn't know at the time, although of course I should have been able to hold a falling second.
Then Margaret came up and preferred to climb down; I climbed down the first part and then used the rope, and soon we were at the bottom, watching other parties have their turn.
An Eskdale Outward Bound course was going up Needle Ridge, and then a little lower we met an Ullswater Outward Bound party, in the charge of Bob Pettigrew. We chatted for some time. He said that in July he was going as Chief Instructor to a similar school in Malaya.
It was a beautiful afternoon as we ran down for an egg tea at Burnthwaite where the taxi fetched the others at 6.30. I could have shared their taxi, or I expect I could have cadged a lift from Ray Colledge, but the weather was so lovely I decided to stay on for another night.
I had gone to bed early and got up at 6 o'clock, finished clearing the hut and left at 7.30, taking the key to leave at Naylors. It was a perfect morning and, as I slogged up the valley under a fierce sun, I thought how sensible I had been to leave early and not do this part of the walk when it was later and hotter. Actually, it clouded over at mid-day, but it was a lovely afternoon. I made fair time as far as Angle Tarn, but then seemed fairly slow over to the Stake Pass and very slow over the Langdales. I firstly followed the track towards Pike o'Stickle, and then went in a northerly direction and over Sergeant Man and down by Easedale Tarn which was thick with summer dresses. Just before Grasmere, I had a halt and changed to my second worst pants and reached Grasmere at about 2.30. I had been so slow that I weighed my pack to see if that would account for it; it was 35 lbs. I had plenty of time for tea before catching the 3.45, one change to Manchester.
I left plenty of time to catch the 10.25, but I didn't realise how few would be the crossing places of the roads immobilised by the processions. However, it was interesting to see the Catholic processions, and I began to get in quite a holiday mood myself. I missed the 10.25, but I expect the 11 o'clock excursion was quicker. It went straight through to the coast. I had quite a wait at the Junction before there was a connection to Bettws, and then it was an hour or so before there was a bus to Capel, so I started to walk up the road. It was a horrid walk, the road full of coaches, and once I'd started I couldn't stop, as I was afraid there'd be no bus stop, so I went on to the Swallow Falls; so many people and so hot. The bus took me to Capel, from where I soon got a lift to the Pen-y-Gwryd, where I enquired if there was room for me. Monica had only booked for herself and Bob, so I went down to the hut and had a pleasant evening reading.
I was away in good time, and so, of course, I got a lift up to the Pen-y-Gwryd, and had plenty of time to wait for the Jacksons at 11.30. We were soon away again; fortunately Monica didn't want to go to somewhere like Cloggy and suggested Cwm Silyn, which I thought an excellent idea. We drove as far as possible and then ate and, at about 2 o'clock, set out for the crag. Bob swam on the way, but Gypsy couldn't be enticed in. At the foot of the crags it was decided that Bob and I should do something first, and we went up the Ordinary Route, Bob leading a couple of pitches, and then we hurried over to our right and down to Monica. Bob took over charge of Gypsy and Monica, and I started up the Upper Slab route. Monica wasn't used to climbing up soil, so I led the first pitch and Monica had the steep wall above. On the next pitch I missed the traverse to the left, tried to make for the wrong 'Excavated Stance' and did two pitches in one. I was in vibrams and on small holds, in my search for the way, I was having a lovely time; I was having to make myself look down at Monica and tell myself that it was too long a lead out for me to make such a thin move. i didn't seem to feel the exposure at all. I retreated, tried a different line, avoided a loose hold, and got up, and Monica followed up the right route, apparently. Monica started on the next pitch, when I looked at my watch, it was 6.30 (I had felt for some time that it was past tea time), so we decided to try to get off to the right, and there was a fairly easy line. We were so disappointed in not finishing our climb, but our meal was ordered at the Pen-y-Gwryd and we knew we'd be late enough as it was.
We weren't exactly welcomed when we arrived at 8.30 at the Pen-y-Gwryd, but our food was saved for us. Jane and Chris Simpson were staying there, but we didn't stay long. Bob drove down to the hut where Gypsy was fed, and we drank the ever welcome tea.
Bob came down to fetch me for breakfast at the hotel, also he fed Gypsy. At about 10 o'clock we drove to Llanberis. Bob wouldn't leave the car among houses, so drove a little way up and we sauntered up the track for a tea and a gossip with Mrs. Williams. Then we went on to Cloggy. I pointed out the East Buttress routes, and then we sat and ate. Monica and I looked with amazement as Bob tucked into the food heartily, as we said, we could see who hadn't a climb to worry about.
Monica and I left our things at the foot of Longlands, and then settled in the Pulpit, and I started up the first pitch. Monica led through and I went up towards the awkward step. I had taken a stone up, and Monica had taken a larger one. I found I could wedge Monica's in quite nicely, so I gave myself a runner and started to look at the awkward step. It went beautifully. Of course I have never had the climb so dry, but I thought I was climbing really well and, once the step was over, the climb was 'in the bag' – I was to learn. I felt Monica must have been very puzzled at my movements higher up; I couldn't find the belay, I tried to make do with a couple of inferior ones, but didn't like them, and then, further up, and to the right, I found it, and then it was Monica's turn for the step and 'Faith and Friction'. Once more we led through, and my next belay was on the 'Crevassed Ledge'. We walked along the ledge and, with difficulty, I got on the first runner, and, in a generous mood, I offered the lead to Monica. It may be difficult to believe it was in a generous mood I did this, but after all it never occurred to me that I would have any difficulty with it; I was climbing really well this day, and I had led this pitch previously on a day when I had been climbing particularly badly. When it was my turn to try the lead, I moved up, got my fingers round the rock with the runner, realised it was a poor hold and came down. It was a jolly good lesson to me, I'll know not to underestimate a difficulty again! I am afraid I always wanted to try the Slab finish and this went quite easily. I kept the runner on, which I suppose counteracted the exposure, but it was such lovely rough rock that I could use any rugosity as a hold. At the end, there was a step round into earth, but I was soon up and Monica followed the same way.
We descended quickly to our boots, rejoined Bob and Gypsy, had more tea at Mrs. Williams', and a "Lick-it" at Llanberis, and had time for a wash and drink before dinner at the Pen-y-Gwryd – we were kept waiting in fact this day.
The three cliffs had been mentioned, but Monica was afraid Gypsy's paws couldn't stand the rock, so we decided on Cwm Silyn again; it was such a lovely spot in this glorious weather, and quite deserted. I was rather anxious to finish the Upper Slab route, but Bob seemed to want to climb, so he and I did the first three pitches of the Outside Edge route and then crossed over to the Ordinary for speed. Poor Monica took Gypsy round to meet us. She was so annoyed. She was longing to climb and, as she said, it was ridiculous that, because of the greyhound, she and Bob could never climb together. As she said, it wasn't as though Gypsy was grateful, she was whining for Bob all the time! There was no time for another climb. We had to hurry down to the car, and start back the way I had worked out. It can't have been much further in distance, but they were slower roads, and then we lost an hour near Ffestiniog, so we were too impatient to get on, to enjoy the road to Bala. We had a pot of tea near Ffestiniog, which was appreciated by all, and then our only stop was for beer and fish and chips at about 9 o'clock, and Bob took me to London Bridge station at 12.30, where I slept in the 3.20, and so to Brighton.
It was the usual meeting place in Auburne Street. Tim had Adolphe with him this time. We soon had the car packed, and started towards Chester. I don't follow this part on the map, and it always seems quite long. Afterwards we followed 'blue roads', except that after Henllan we took the 'white road', which avoids Gwytherin – it was quite a pull up! There was a heat haze over Snowdonia, so we didn't get the wonderful view; Siabod was the only distinct peak. Tim dropped me at Cwm Glas Mawr, and continued down to Beudy Mawr himself. As I started to walk up to the hut, I was called back by Trevor Jones, and I got in his van for a chat. I told him my predicament that I wanted to climb, and all the clubs were walking, so invited me to join him on a new route on the Grochan the next day. It sounded rather a chancy do, and I didn't commit myself.
Soon Jean and Vin arrived in the hut, and I soon caught Jean's enthusiasm for the walk, and told Vin, when he returned to Beudy Mawr, to tell Trevor I probably wouldn't be climbing.
Jean and I thoroughly awakened ourselves talking and drinking tea until midnight. When we went to bed we didn't sleep; at 1 o'clock I decided I was hungry and had an apple. At 2 o'clock I was asleep and woke up as a torch shone in the window. Jean let the late arrivals in, they turned out to be Rie and Eric and two others, but at the time I was furious because the two men came into our dormitory – I was even more annoyed when one started to snore!
We got up just before 7 a.m. and were soon ready. The Beudy Mawr party soon arrived, and the last was Diane, who was camping and hadn't been informed that we were leaving before 9 o'clock (the original plan). We started up the hillside at 8.20 and made for the North Ridge of Crib Goch. Three of us were soon left behind, Adolphe, Diane and I; Adolphe turned back, he had sinus trouble, but Diane and I plodded on and joined the others when they rested on Crib-y-Ddysgl. It was a happy party, despite the heat. I was carrying only an anorak; Ron was taking my things round by car. The others went to the summit cairn of Snowdon, while I went inside for a cup of tea. Then they followed me and said that there was another 'pip' to do, on the way to Llechog, and down we all trooped, most of the party passed me as I was still going down. Back in the hotel for more tea, and then Diane and I took our time down the Pen-y-Gwryd track, talking. Diane had so much to tell me about her skiing and engagement.
We arrived at the Pen-y-Pass at about 12.30, in plenty of time to slake our thirsts and have a wash and brush up before our meal was ready at 1 o'clock. It was an enjoyable meal, served with such dignity and ceremony, but the club was in a silly mood, and the guests' remarks didn't fit in with the dignity of the management. Tim had to do Y Garn and Elidir Fawr, so he set out first, closely followed by Diane and me, who wanted a start over the others. It worked very well for we reached the summit of Glyder Fawr not long after the others. We continued along to Glyder Fach before an 'official halt' and then descended Bristly Ridge. I had thought it not far to the top of Tryfan, but it seemed a killing grind up. For once I led the party, down North Gully. Vin was behind and, much to his annoyance, he was informed by some roped people that that way down was only for climbers!
Then down to Gwern-y-Gorff Uchaf, where Ron and Murray and family had the tents pitched. We sat and rested and were supplied with tea, I think I drank about 4 pints. When there were signs of activity about the camp, Diane and I set out, at about 7.30, and once more reached the summit not long after the others. It was Pen-yr-Oleu Wen this time. The heat and flies on the way up had been killing, and then we watched the storm to the east, and wondered how soon it would be before it reached us. We went full speed ahead over Carnedd Dafydd, and then when the heavy rain came, and the lightning was very close, we dropped down to the north of the ridge. I suppose we were sheltered from the lightning, but certainly not from the rain, and I was soaked. I hoped once the storm was over it would clear up, but it wasn't to be, there were showers, if not heavy rain, all night. We toiled up Llewellyn, and then with the last of the daylight we saw the direction of Yr Elen, and made for it. It took longer than we expected, and we had out our torches for the return journey. We didn't find the cairn of Llewellyn again, but we knew we weren't far off and took a compass bearing. I say 'we', but actually it was the M.R.C., Jean, Vin and Roger, who did the work. The Polaris (Diane, Arthur, Alf and I) usually sat down and relaxed until it was time to go on again. The rocks were very slimy for our vibrams. We walked on the grass all we could, we slowly made our way over both the Foels, knowing the last one by the wall. It is amazing how poor the paths are on this part. Then came the long return, and the third ascent of Llewellyn. Jean opened a tin of pineapple in the shelter just below the summit. There was very heavy rain as we started down towards Craig-yr-Ysfa, and we thought we'd never get there; in fact, Vin had just decided we'd missed the way when a slight rocky rise ahead indicated the familiar place. The first dawn was quite sudden, a light streak under the clouds to the northeast, and the llyn just beneath our feet in the opposite direction. We cut straight down to the water, couldn't find a path, and continued round it, and then the route finders hit the bridge over the leat exactly, and so to the farm, the road and, at 5 o'clock, the tents.
Arthur immediately took a proprietary share of his, but I didn't mind. It gave me the excuse to go into the warm one with the primus, Tim's. Poor Tim had set off after us up Pen-yr-Oleu Wen, but on top of Llewellyn, on his own in the mist, he did the sensible thing, and came down; unfortunately his sleep before his drive to Leicester was being badly interrupted. Ron was in and out making soup, and then tea, we drank it out of the same mugs, we didn't care!
Then came the news that Jean was preparing to go on. As she put it, after all we had gone through, it was all the more reason to finish the thing. I was all against going on until I realised that I might not be able to continue. My wet pants had rubbed me so badly that I wasn't sure that I could walk. I was furious. I had gone through all that and wasn't the least bit tired and now I wasn't going to be able to finish – or was I? I had taken of my wet clothes and sat in my dry woolly, black underpants and my packamac and I decided to walk in that rig-out. Even so, it was difficult to walk at first, but things gradually improved. I put my slightly drier shirt and anorak in my sack, so that I could dry them in the hot sunshine – if I'd only known! Once more Diane and I started first, but were soon caught up, and the party stayed together (more or less) for the rest of the walk. We went up to the Devil's Kitchen, then up to the right of it, and so up to the top of Y Garn. The rain was coming down very steadily by now and we began to realise what we were in for in the way of wind. We sat on the least exposed side of the ridge, and ate a little, but Arthur forced us on. "Which way are we going, quick, quick" seconds were vital, one gathered. He had already asked if anyone had any spare clothing and then he started down, with Vin close behind. From the rear I witnessed a most touching scene, Vin took his cape off his own back, and didn't just hand it to Arthur, he put it over his shoulders and Arthur wore it until he got back.
Elidir Fawr was the only three thousander I hadn't already climbed and I felt I was climbing it with due ceremony. The wind was quite ferocious. Jean had to take off her cape. The rocks at the top were as slippery as could be, and I think we'd have had to go on all fours because of that, but with the wind there was no chance of walking down. The centre of my vibrams had worn quite flat. I don't suppose that helped. The party soon separated, I was mostly with Jean and Roger, but then Jean got ahead, and I started down the right hand side of the stream until Jean called me over. I know I fell head first on the last bank, but nothing surprised me by this time.
A shepherd looked at us a little curiously and made a remark about the weather, to which I made a suitable reply. Apparently that didn't satisfy his curiosity for he then remarked that we were out early. I wasn't sure whether we were early or late, so I gave him a fully account of our activities – I find on occasional like this that I get quite talkative. He walked on, he had nothing to say – he merely opened gates for us etc.
I had a horror that I should be offered a lift back to Cwm Glas, for I knew I should have to finish on foot, fortunately I was saved the embarrassment of refusing a lift. Jean nearly had the tea ready when I reached Beudy Mawr, and then we went on to Cwm Glas to collect our things, and take them down to Beudy Mawr to change and eat.
Jean gave me a lift back, it was most amusing to see that, on the first lap of the journey, none of her three fairly tough looking passengers could keep awake, but Jean drove on quite happily. We began to wake up at Corwen, and stopped for coffee in Chester, and so back to Manchester.
I caught the 5.35 p.m. from Manchester, saw Carys at the Junction and caught PYG 1 to the Gwryd. I started to walk down Cwm Dyli, but a car to the Power Station stopped and took me the rest of the way. I was wide awake and had a long chat with Anne when she arrived at about 3 a.m.
The weather was bad so we dallied over breakfast and then drove round to Llyn Ogwen and parked the van. We found we hadn't the guide to the Gribin Facet, so we made our way to Bochlwyd Buttress. There was a long queue for the chimney so we did Arête and Slab, and then waited for the chimney – quite half an hour, but we were able to shelter as the odd shower blew over. It didn't take us long once we'd started, but the rock was cold to the fingers. I landed at the top with hot aches. We had succeeded in keeping fairly dry, so even Anne agreed not to get soaked going over the tops and we thought we'd retreat to the hut to tea. We passed the Pen-y-Gwryd during a dry spell, so we changed our mind and made for the Pass and walked up to Flying Buttress. This went very quickly and we were soon down again and along to the foot of Cenotaph Corner, where I had previously indicated the line of Spiral Stairs. Anne had the first pitch. I have always wanted to try 'Better Things', but I hardly felt that this was the day. The wind was almost enough to blow us off at times, and the rocks were still very cold for the fingers, so I went straight up. Needless to say Anne wasn't content with a two pitch climb, and added extra pitches at the top. Next Anne wanted to do Parchment Passage, but I wouldn't hear of it. I have great respect for the climb, because of its loose rock, and I simply didn't feel like coping with such hazards in the wind and so we retreated to the hut.
We had worked out our plans according to the weather; Plan A was to go to Llanberis for 'Gambit' etc. and Plan B, with doubtful weather was to go to Tremadoc. We left the hut fairly late and it looked quite bright, so Anne drove us to the Pass. A short shower sent us back again and round to Tremadoc. We had a little difficulty in finding the start of Poor Man's Peuterey. We went up through the undergrowth and found ourselves at the foot of the Hound's Head, but that gave us our bearings and we were able to descend to our climb. I started up. I was very thrilled with the first pitch; I did it by bridging, and once or twice I wondered whether I'd make it, but the holds worked out superbly. Anne followed up the strenuous way, and continued up the next slimy pitch. Then I went along the traverse, but Anne decided not to call that a pitch and said I could have the long one!
We hadn't enough rope, so we tied all our spares together on the end of the climbing rope and I started up. I traversed to the nose and then started up and came to a belay. I brought Anne up – it was the only reasonable thing to do for it would give me enough real rope (without the slings etc.) and also the top of the pitch was still long enough. I started up in rubbers, but soon found the holds a little damp, so put on socks and went up quite happily, until I came to the step across. I couldn't quite decide at which level to do it, until I realised that I could get a sling on to the right. Then it didn't matter at which level I made the stride! There was a final pull up using grass handholds and all was over.
We discussed going on to Badger's Buttress, but by the time we'd ascended the short side of the Pinnacle, circled Pant Ivan Cottage and Anne had recovered my boots which I'd left at the foot of the climb (she had done it in vibrams, I didn't envy her) there wasn't time to find the other climb.
Back to the hut for much brewing of tea and at 5.40 we were away. Anne was trying to save the engine of her new toy, and wasn't hurrying; also we missed the turning in Wrexham and before Crewe, and were 20 minutes late for my train. However, the train was even later and I caught my old friend (or enemy) the 5.40 from Euston.
I caught the 10.22 from London Road and changed at Crewe and Birmingham and then caught the Bristol train. I seemed to doze in all my trains and waiting rooms, and then at Templemeads I stretched out in the Ladies waiting room until about 7.30, when I thought I'd better think about breakfast. I had a very good 3/6d meal in the dining room and then went out into the city. I had expected to amuse myself by looking around the shops, but I didn't pass that area. I enquired my way to the bus to the Portway and alighted at the tennis court at about 9.30. There was a familiar green van and Anne was having another breakfast. She had left Weybridge that morning.
Anne saw no need to wait for the others, and said she could find 'Piton route'; I wasn't so keen when I saw that it was graded hard severe, but Anne had the leading worked out, that she should do the long first pitch, so all I had to do was wait. Eventually Anne had me up to the belay before the traverse left, and then she quickly made it. I was quite impressed by the end of the traverse, but it was raining by this time and I was in my kletterschuhe. Then I should have led the next, but – a slab. I put on my socks over my kletterschuhe and started up. My foot slipped on the first step, but I stayed on, but I was quite demoralised for the rest of the day really. I have always had such faith in socks! It was raining quite hard, so I retreated and Anne led the pitch (it had stopped raining by then!). That gave me the IVb pitch which amused me enormously. For a moment I thought I wouldn't do it. I swung my leg over to bridge and found that I couldn't reach the other side, but by working my other leg up a little, I just made it. I was amused that I led the strenuous pitch, and Anne the delicate. We came down and found that Dora King and Annette had arrived and we sheltered in Dora's car and ate the lunch Annette provided.
The weather cleared up later and Anne and I set off for "Dawn Walk" – Anne led the first pitch, which gave me the long second pitch. I set off sockless, but loathed the slimy green rock – I retreated from one move and put on one sock, and then from another and put on another sock. I traversed to the end and didn't like the way up, and looked at another way, but decided it was wiser not to make the move without a runner, so I retreated. Needless to say, Anne led it – by my first route. Is it too much to say that it had dried out considerably by the time she got on it? Suzanne had come along, but had gone before we were down, also Dora and Annette. Anne has never had enough, so we continued up, and once more I retreated. This time I couldn't even say that the rock was slimy, it simply was not my type! We were on the route to the right of Boiler Plate Slab. And so out to Portishead for a very pleasant evening at Annette's
Only Anne and I were climbing, and there wasn't long before my train at 2 o'clock. We scrambled up the Arête and then up the route to the left of Boiler Plate Slab, but it was a mucky route – I got too far to the left and found some bad rock. There was just time for Anne to show me Tree Slabs and then she took me to Templemeads station for the long journey back to Manchester. The diesel at Crewe looked exciting, but it was very slow.
I'd had two offers of lifts – from Tim and Ernest, but they both went down with 'flu, so I caught the 5.15 bus. At Ambleside I started to walk and had nearly reached Skelwith Bridge when two members of the Yorkshire Ramblers picked me up and took me all the way to Raw Head, although they were going to their hut in Little Langdale. Fairly soon Diane and Tom arrived, and then Pat, Alan and Pete, after a 4 hour run from Nottingham.
It was a doubtful day; Bowfell was suggested, some people had started out, so Anne and I went that way and didn't see one of the club all day! We started up the Band, but soon got into the mist, and I missed the little track and we went to the summit of the mountain and found our way down to the foot of the buttress. I was so surprised at this, as we seemed to be going in circles from the summit! Anne started up the buttress (I suggested this so that I didn't get the crack!). My fingers were cold on the crack and I found it very awkward! I got the long stride, but it was all over after the crack pitch. Once more we found our way to the summit, despite starting off in completely the wrong direction! It was cold and misty, so we thought we'd walk over the Crinkles, but at the last minute Anne seemed to hanger after a little more climbing, so we went down to the Neck Band. Anne had the second pitch of that, which I considered quite unjustifiable in vibrams! I had the strenuous move higher up, but Anne found it nothing! I was able to follow up the last pitch by using a less strenuous method than Anne.
We didn't alter our watches and Anne got up at 6.30 and we were away at about 8 o'clock, up to Gimmer. We started up Ash Tree Slabs and then K joined us. Next we did B. I was hoping I'd lead the Corner, I got within a move of the top when I decided my hands were too cold and retreated. Anne led it without much trouble, thanks to my directions! All was simple from then on, and from the Crows Nest we turned round and descended Oliversons. There was a shower of rain on this, and we were afraid the weather was deteriorating, so we went along to Pavey Ark. It had been amusing watching Windermere as the showers blew over – the lake would seem to go out of focus, and then click back into focus as the storm passed.
Pavey was crowded. We could see there were too many people on Great Gully, so we went along to Rake End Chimney, but parties were queuing for that, so we moved up for Gwynnes. On the way, a party retreated from Cook's Tour, so we took their place and were soon up it. I was surprised how easily it went in vibrams, for I had thought of it as a nail climb.
Then down to the sacks, and I sent Anne and K off down, with the result that the tea was ready when I arrived. We left on the dot of 5 o'clock B.S.T. , the hour we had planned, but there was rather a lot of traffic on the A6. I was left in Manchester soon after 8 o'clock and Anne continued her long journey with Joy and K.
After speech day, I packed my gown in my case and hurried to London Road Station to pick up my sack which I had left in the cloakroom that morning. To my horror I found the cloakroom shut, but by running as directed from one end of the station to the other I was able to have it taken out and I even managed to catch the train. I changed into my suitable garb, and at Crewe offered the man at the barrier the money for the ticket I hadn't had time to buy at Manchester. He seemed a little dubious about issuing it at first, but eventually seemed to decide that I was honest, and gave me a ticket in exchange for the cloakroom ticket, when Anne arrived, with Deryk as passenger, and we continued to Cwm Glas.
There was just enough calor gas to cook our breakfast, and no more, so we decided to retreat to Cwm Dyli. On the way, Deryk called in at Pen-y-Pass and got a bed. After tea at the hut we set off for Cwm Silyn. We didn't think it the best of crags for a beginner, but Snowdonia was out of bounds for foot and mouth, and we thought the more southerly hills were still free.
We lunched in the van and then walked up to the Cwm; unfortunately the way I chose to walk to the crags involved a roped scramble for Deryk! At the foot of the slab Deryk seemed a little overawed, but we talked him into trying the climb. I suggested that Anne should lead it, as it was new to her, and I had led it more than once, but this wasn't altogether a good idea, as Anne isn't used to encouraging beginners; her run-outs were too long, occasionally I would demonstrate a pitch to him, for example in the chimneys. The slab above was the real crux for Deryk – I felt his nerve was leaving him! Anne wasn't going to bother to belay for the next pitch, but I insisted!! Anne started to continue up the rocks, but Deryk had had enough, so we walked round to the left, and came out on the summit to watch a glorious sunset. All the afternoon there had been the most wonderful views out over the sea.
Back at Cwm Dyli, Tim had just arrived (I was glad I had left the message for him at Cwm Glas). Anne and I set to work over supper, and just as it was ready Denise Shortall and Chris arrived – from the Calor gas-less Cwm Glas, and we had a jolly meal together. Eventually Denise and Chris left and Anne took Deryk up to the Pen-y-Gwryd, and then Anne, Tim and I were left alone in the hut. At 11 o'clock there was a knock at the door and Mr. Jones and a Beddgelert policeman arrived. Later the policeman confessed that he had come to blow us up, but that didn't happen – he was very pleasant. He told us we shouldn't have been at the hut, but when we said we'd seen no notices, he said a tramp must have taken them down and he realised we were not to go. They asked us not to walk on any hills the next day and Mr. Jones put in his plea, that 10,000 sheep were at stake and that they were irreplaceable as they had been born on these hills. We could only agree with them and also agreed to put off the November meet.
Once we left the hut, there was no returning, and it was a filthy day, so we sat about, breakfasted, drank more tea and then lunched. It was Deryk we felt sorry for, expecting us at 9.30. I found that both Tim and Anne were expecting me to climb with them the next weekend when I was going to the Fell and Rock dinner, so they decided to go together and I planned their Coniston weekend!
We left at about 1.30 and picked up Deryk and drove to the Pen-y-Gwryd to borrow handbooks and get the address of the Karabiner Club. Before we'd finished the planning, Anne and I were reduced to tears (of laughter). Tim was able to give me a lift right home to Droylsden.
I caught the 5.15 bus again, but this time went all the way to Keswick. I reached the Royal Oak at about 10 o'clock and found there was a dance in progress, but I was told there was coffee and sandwiches in my room. The Fell and Rock don't do things by halves.
I was down for breakfast in good time, and had it with Una Cameron. Later I waited for my hosts, Rusty Westmoreland and Dick Cook, to take me climbing. It had been a terrible night (it had even kept me awake) and we learned that Borrowdale was flooded, so we went to Newlands. The car was parked, and we walked up to Waterfall Buttress, and I was given the place of honour on the front end of the rope (I felt rather silly as the other two followed up superbly). I put on my P.A.s for the first time, but the rock was very slimy (even to my fingers, so I soon put on my socks. I'm afraid I used a knee on the crux, and at this point other guests were passing – Dave Thomas, and A.B. Hargreaves, who came to our climb, also Mac, Dennis Davis etc., going on to Miners Crag. We then followed them along, but instead of doing their 'vs' route we climbed another 'vd', Gully Arête, and once more I was given the position of honour. After this, I hoped we had worked up to better things, but no, I found retreat was the order of the day. I found it interesting coming down with Mac and learning a little of his life since I had last seen him at the Biolay!
And so back to Keswick for the Fell and Rock members to attend the A.G.M. The dinner was good! – once more I didn't join the president for a drink beforehand. I couldn't get near!, but Bert Taylor bought me a sherry.
Then into the dining room where I was sitting between Mac and Mr. Waldie, the S.M.C. representative.
The first three speeches were splendid, firstly Mac, a little afraid in case he'd not given the sort of speech they'd wanted – as though they'd have asked Mac if they wanted a polite speech! Mr. Plint, the President followed on, and he wasn't quite as proper as he looked! Then Mr. Murray proposed the Guests. He didn't name them personally, but he knew something about each of the women, one kept Siamese cats, and another had the reputation of taking out other people's pegs! H. Hartley replied on behalf of the guests.
I breakfasted with A.B. Hargreaves and then awaited my hosts. It was a miserable morning, so we went along Borrowdale to Shepherds Crag and I was allowed to lead Little Chamonix. I didn't have to wear out my socks as Rusty had brought along Phyllis's rope soled shoes for me. I was sorry we didn't do Chamonix itself; the easy one didn't tax me. Then we went along to Brown Slab Direct, which Rusty asked to lead. As I watched him going up in the streaming rain I thought what enthusiasm! I felt sorry for Rusty and Dick. They could pick their days for climbing and they were having to climb in this weather! I gave the hint that they needn't climb for my sake, and so we adjourned to the Borrowdale Hotel, and returned to Keswick in good time. I bathed and changed and then filled in the time walking around Keswick, before having tea with Isobel and Bert, and then hearing the first half of Mac's Mustang Tower lecture. Plenty of people at the dinner could have given me a lift to Manchester, but Tim and Anne were meeting the 6.20 bus at Ambleside, so I had to catch it. None of my telepathy to draw them to Keswick this wet and windy day had worked. At least they were on time. I could hear how they had missed my 'expert knowledge' on Dow, and Tim deposited Anne on Preston Station and took me to Droylsden.
I wanted an evening at home, so I decided to leave on the last train and wait for Shirley to pick me up at Warrington. I reached Central Station in good time and caught an early train. At Warrington I realised that there were two stations and the Central closed at midnight. I walked around the town, had a cup of tea, and started chatting to a policeman who directed me to the mainline station. I bought a platform ticket and settled down in a Ladies waiting room until the porters started questioning me. When they head that I had bought a platform ticket, they couldn't do enough for me and told me to go over to the other platform, where there was a fire. At 2 o'clock I was disturbed by the arrival of Anne and Barbara, and I was soon settled in Shirley's car, and on my way to Langdale, which we reached at about 5 a.m; we were staying in the barn at Raw Head.
Anne was up at 7.30, and we were away by about 10 o'clock. Shirley drove us to the top of Wrynose and then we mounted up towards Swirl How, but skirted most of the tops and made for Dow Crags. There had been a biting wind on the walk, and an occasional snow shower, but Dow was sheltered from the wind, although the rocks were cold to the fingers. We started up Woodhouses, Shirley following me, and Barbara behind Anne. Anne and I were the only ones to do the first pitch; we got up the wall without incident, and the chimney was drier than I had ever known it. I ought to have climbed the crack higher up, but cold fingers sapped my enthusiasm and I went round the last optional problem. Anne showed me an easier way of doing it, to go up to the right, and swing round to the left. We descended Southwest Gully (Anne and I in the gully) to the Amphitheatres, where we let our seconds down Easter Gully, and then Anne and I climbed Blizzard Chimney and went the easy way down Easy Terrace, rejoined the others and walked back to the car, which we reached just before the light went, on this rather lovely evening.
The church going pair delayed our start. We drove along to Middlefell. Anne led the first pitch, the rest of us went round. Barbara followed me, and Shirley and Anne were behind. We went on to Gimmer where Oliversons and Lyon's Crawl provided a thrilling climax for Barbara and Shirley. We roped for the descent of the gully and then lunched at the foot of Main Wall. Shirley said she'd had enough, but Barbara was obviously secretly longing for another, and we persuaded her to come up.
I said I'd led it often enough, I didn't mind following up, but Anne insisted on tossing and I won the toss and led the first pitch – much to Anne's sorrow, I learned later. Anne led the second pitch and I scrambled up the third and then we hurried down to the car, reached Raw Head at 4 o'clock and were away at 5.
We stopped for tea on the way and reached Manchester at 9 o'clock. Shirley was to drive the others to Abbott's Bromley where Anne would pick up her van and drive Barbara to London.
Tim called for Jean first and I had until 7.30 to get ready. We had an uneventful ride up the A6 and stopped for tea just before Carnforth. It wasn't a transport place. There was a tea pot and new hot scones to go with it.
The instructions to find the camp site were most inadequate; fortunately someone was still up at a cottage, and we were able to enquire and find we really did have to go through three gates before the iron one. It was a lovely field, but ruined, I thought by permanent caravans. However, no-one seemed at home at this time of the year. We each pitched our own tent, and then sat in Tim's for more tea, and crept into bed as the Nottingham party started to arrive.
Anne arrived off the early bus at about 8 o'clock. Fortunately we were about. At about 9.30 we walked up to the crags. It was quite a nice day not brilliantly sunny, but not too cold, so we looked out Murray's on 'B'. While I was changing into my PA's (!!), Pete Perkins came along, with about 50 students! He looked at the guidebook and decided to follow up Murray's with a beginner!
Anne kindly said I could have Murray's as a reward for the previous weekend! I went up the first pitch, but failed to find the thread belay. I did the traverse without it, hitching the rope over a projection the size of a pea. Anne soon joined me, showing me – en route – the thread I had missed!. The rest went easily enough; there were jugs for the hands for the two-step movement to the left, and then I put a runner on the large 'detached' flake – I thought of the 'matchstick' on Lliwedd and thought this flake was too detached. Anne joined me in the cave on 'Abrahams' and I then went up the "steep little crack" – the holds were excellent. I passed below the foot of the direct finish – it looked far too strenuous – and belayed below the chimney on the Ordinary finish. Up the chimney and then up the final crack which I found less strenuous than Anne.
We looked for Tim and Jean on Woodehouses, but there were no signs, so we came down to our sacks for a little to eat, lent Alan our guide (he had lent his to Pete and Pamela!) and started up Intermediate Gully. I started up the first pitch and Anne retreated from the second and, while she rested, I tried it and, not having Anne's habit of relinquishing the lead if she thought the other wanted it, I kept it for the rest of the climb. The next pitch (I think it was) looked quite fierce. The trouble was it looked avoidable on both sides and I was loath to struggle on it. There was an obvious handhold high up on the right, but it was no use to me, nor was I successful in my efforts to lasso it. I tried bridging in from the left, but to no avail, and then I tried putting my left foot over the chockstone. That was what was needed; I was able to raise myself on that foot and soon reached the handhold on the right wall. Above this, the crack was more open, but I was able to jam a foot and squirm up. This pitch was the crux, so Anne agreed. I found the last pitch awkward. I tried to climb the chockstone on the left direct. I was able to get a knee on a little ledge, but was unable to get any higher, so I retreated and rested my hands before bridging in from the right. Anne did it by my original method, but found it quite as much as she wanted, even with the rope pulling her in balance.
Down once more where we met Tim and Jean and borrowed Jean's book. They were for one of the bird routes, but Anne and I were back to 'B' again, this time for Abrahams. Once more, Anne said it was my lead, and I am afraid I was enjoying my position too much to be unselfish. "PA's – they put your climbing up a standard".
Abrahams didn't start very well, wandering up easy gullies, with the odd step across on absolute jugs, and then up the easy slabs after crossing Woodhouses. I belayed on the capstone below an impending wall and brought Anne up. By this time I was quite overawed by the climb and was thinking of retreat. I don't know what "impending" means, but I felt very impended. I realised that it was getting cold and my fingers were quite numb. When Anne arrived I looked at the book and found I didn't climb the wall at all, but traversed to the left, which wasn't so bad.
I put a runner on the loose spike to safeguard my step to the left and then felt the holds. They were good and incut, but I didn't altogether trust my cold fingers. I stepped back and then had another try, using the runner as a first right handhold. Once I had let this go, I found that I couldn't get back easily, so I had to go on. The first step was easy, but the next step up was once more on small holds, so I hesitated, but once more my numb bent fingers fitted perfectly into the holds. In a cautious mood I left a couple more runners on the pitch before I reached a good stance and brought Anne up. The pitch was just her type.
We collected our things at the bottom and then hurried back to camp to put on the tea. We went through Coniston, shopping on the way, our purchases including frozen peas and frozen cream.
In camp we installed ourselves in Tim's tent and his primus was used for the tea, and I put on mine for the soup. This was voted a success when it was finally eaten; it contained fresh celery and potato, a small packet of celery soup and a half packet of spring vegetable soup! The next course consisted of peas with sausages or tinned meat, and finally there was Anne's fruit salad. She had apples, pears, bananas, tangerines and I added my tin of apricots. We left the pomegranates until the next day, as we had nothing for straining the pips.
More tea and then there was a general exodus to our friends staying at the Sun.
Back in camp for more tea in Tim's tent until Anne called me in to bed.
I wasn't eager to get up as Anne had ambitious plans and I am superstitious about talking of climbs beforehand. When I managed to look out I saw the tops of the hills were in mist and knew that it would be too cold for good things. Unfortunately Anne wouldn't see that and, trying to be generous, she said I was to have the lead again! Ernest drove us to the Sun and then, after quite a pause, he took us to the second gate and we had to start walking.
At the rocks I was able to persuade Anne that I should hate to lead and so she set off up A Buttress. Half way up Arête Chimney and Crack she decided it was too cold for the fingers and came down. I think A Buttress caught the wind more than most. We went up Giants Crawl, which I enjoyed with a well held rope above me. I was climbing in nails for the first time for 18 months! Then up to the top of the Summit Ridge and down Easy Gully, and so along to Easter Gully. Tim, Jean, Ernest and Don were still on Bird Routes, so Anne led me up Black Chimney. The conversation on 'D Buttress' was amusing: "But Ernest, you should be tied to two ropes". Down again and we shouted up that we'd make our own way down, and we walked back to the campsite, and the water was almost boiling when Ernest arrived with the other two.
Much tea was drunk. We had a cold meal, Ernest left us, and then we took down the tent and loaded the car.
Anne and I crowded together in the back until we reached Carnforth, where Anne was picking up her sleeper for her run to London. Tim delivered first Jean and reached the square with me at 11 o'clock.