Guerdon Grooves is one of the test pieces of Scottish winter climbing and in the final part of this three part special Cubby concludes the tale of this outstanding climb told here for the very first time.
Read part one here
Read part two here
Standing there on a tiny rake of turf, a final stepping stone, I knew that I had exhausted all the immediate possibilities. As if to receive the body of Christ, I bend my knees to relax tired and aching limbs, and bow my head which rests in the joint of my arms.
What next I ask myself, staring at gathering snow on the bruised and exposed flesh of my wrists. They are raw like Chinese burns from the axe loops, which have supported my weight for much of the day. Despite my predicament a strange sense of calm beholds me. Sanity and the insane, jostle for a position in my mind. The implications of retreat, the thought of climbing those pitches again. And for what, for who and why?
The situation was desperate. I so wanted to go on. But sanity begins to catch a hold. Fumbling to untangle my hand from its axe loop, I then pull back the hood of my jacket. Now exposed to the noise and full extent of the strengthening storm, I turn to Arthur and shout, with great relief, that I'm coming down.
Barely able to see through frosted eyelashes, I reverse back to Walsh's relics, which I backed up with a nut and lowered down to rejoin Arthur. Always a master of understatement, Arthur said, between closed gritted teeth, that he thought things were beginning to get a wee bit out of hand. Just a wee bit, mind you! Once the decision had been made to bail out however, we were back down at the foot of the climb within an hour.
Conditions worsened to an almost frightening level. Great Gully was reasonably sheltered but huge amounts of snow were constantly being deposited. We packed our sacks, donned our head torches and started our descent. In fear of being taken out by an avalanche, we clung to the sidewall of the gully. It was slow going but cautious time well spent. By 6.30pm we were almost back at the Ville. An orange glow poured from its little windows, it was a most welcome sight. Tam and Davy were already back having completed a first winter ascent of Chimney Route on the South East Face. To celebrate everybody's safe return, Tam handed out lumps of fatty cheddar cheese, which we washed down with a disposable plastic cup of Cairns "Finest" sherry.
That was the day of the now famous "big storm". The whole of Scotland came to a standstill. Cars and trains were stranded for days and Glencoe was declared a disaster zone. The next day adopted the appearance of how I imagined the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust. The only feasible route that we could follow was on foot along the bed of the river Coupal, where wind blown snow could not adhere to its smooth and frozen surface.
Forays were made to Alt na Feadh and Lagangarbh in search of firewood and to meet up with other stranded climbers. On the A82 only the faint outline of upturned cars could be seen. Back at the Ville, we enjoyed a roaring fire, endless brews and munchies and mocked at an announcement on the radio.
"Two climbers said to be experienced were trapped in a remote mountain hut beneath the North Face of Buachaille Etive Mor in the Scottish Highlands." The report continued, "their food supplies are said to be running dangerously low". Never one to miss an opportunity, Tam replied, tearing off another chunk of cheddar, "I wonder who that could be? Experienced climbers, cannae be anybody we know!" We all roared with laughter.
In all our epic return to Glasgow took four days, via a night at Big Iain Nicholson's in Glencoe village and then by the Gourock ferry. After the storm the weather stabilised and the forecast looked set to remain fair for a few more days. So no sooner had the roads opened over Black Mount, we were back up at our previous high point.
I still found the climbing hard and evidently so did Arthur as he took to the air on the hard move left on pitch two. This time however, I was armed with a Stitch Plate! A carbon copy of the previous weekend ensued, with Arthur backing down from the slab. I was confident that he would have cracked pitch four and felt pensive at having to take the lead again. This time however, free from the pressure of a raging storm and fading light, I excavated a placement for a small wire.
Above the slab the wall reared up, steep, black and shiny and did not look any easier than it had done on our previous attempt. Despite my razor sharp axes, the ice was too thin to be of any use but closer scrutiny reveals two little pockets. For the right hand the placement is marginal but sufficient so far as the first tooth. While my left hand axe does not bite at all.
The tough verglass is even too much for my trusty Salewas, which barely scratch the surface. Like the hand of a clock, I wound the left-hand axe in an anti clockwise direction until eventually the pick begins to bite with the shaft facing obliquely upwards. I then positioned myself so that I can begin to undercut the axe by pulling upwards on the shaft. With no certainty of the outcome I reach up into a snow filled break. It's a thought provoking move and an extraordinary piece of climbing. So far so good but I'm fully stretched.
Committed to the move, I slide my left hand to the end of the shaft but ultimately I have to let go! I'm more than aware of my distance above the slab and pray for the hell of me, that my axe holds and I can find a runner. The position is strenuous but further excavation reveals a good crack, which I can pull into and stand more comfortably. Eventually I place the best nut of the entire route and relax, thinking that was just a bit too adventurous for my liking. I then reversed down and retrieved my axe, which had fortunately stayed in place.
I was perched on a sort of elevated prow. The position was superb and at last I started to sense that nearly all the major difficulties were now at long last below me. I continued up the prow for some distance to a point where some tricky down climbing leads to a belay at a large flake on Ravens Gully. Arthur soon joined me. He didn't think that the climbing was excessively hard, no harder technically than some of the moves he experienced on Psyche but nevertheless respected the bold nature of the lead.
Ravens Gully in turfy, lean conditions seemed like a dawdle. After two pitches we veered out left to belay beneath a short, steep chimney crack in a barrier like wall. In the twilight we sorted out the rack for what I hoped would be the last time. We munched a sweet and then Arthur shovelled mole like into the bowls of the crack, sending plumes of discoloured powder onto my head. Unlike previous pitches the ropes sneaked steadily upwards with little or no hesitation into the darkness of approaching nightfall. Occasionally as metal struck the volcanic rock, sparks splintered in all directions, emitting a strong sulphurous odour that lingered in the cold air. It was a good lead and thankfully hassle free.
Arthur knew I was tired and I didn't need to concern myself over a tight rope when I started climbing. It was a good pitch if a little contrived but at long last we were finally together on the top.
After our adventures of the previous weekend, our ascent of Guerdon Grooves was something of an anti-climax. There was not a sense of great elation or a spiritually uplifting sensation so often associated with having completed a great climb. Of course we were pleased and amply rewarded but we had returned in many respects to complete a formality, to prove to ourselves and to others that we could do it.
In Arthur, I found all the qualities I admire in a great climbing partner but he was more than that. We had shared a lot together in those few days, there was something special in the partnership but most importantly a friendship had evolved.
Standing on the edge of Ravens Gully, coiling the partially frozen ropes and lost in our thoughts. "You know," we said, turning simultaneously to face each other. I paused to let Arthur finish. "I think that's the first route I've done that warrants a genuine grade VI." "Me too," and we started yet another scary descent down Great Gully.
After a day relaxing in Fort William, we returned to Glencoe where we put up two excellent new routes on the East Face of Gearr Aonach - the much prized Jabberwocky and with Colin MacLean in tow, we returned again to add Snow Stormer (see pic above). We had designs on another new route on Beinn Dearg but the thaw set in and I had to start guiding for the season. Och well!
Cubby
4/1/2002
Footnote A number of people have asked specifically about the conditions we encountered on Guerdon Grooves. On speaking to Kenny Spence about its poorly protected nature, he simply replied what else do you expect on an ice climb - a cutting remark. Unfortunately there have been other fabricated rumours by winter activists to this effect. The truth I'm afraid could not be more different. This is a mixed climb and a good, natural winter line, which will be in condition more often than you might think each season. But as for ice, a move or two on pitch one and a short ice pillar on pitch two and that's it. As for the line taken, I have never been back to check it out but apart from pitch four (a leaders crux), and parts perhaps on the second pitch, it may well differ from the exact summer line.
The little patterns referred to in the article were made by an attempt by Alan Rouse.
