2 contentsevery trip has been over subscribed and i can safely say that never before has the club...

2

Warwick Mountains 07-08

Contents

Twenty one: What a Birthday...What a Trip!! By Alan Onslow

Three Peaks By Amy Underwood Thompson

Hiking in the Sun drenched Yorkshire Dales By Catherine Boycott

Climbing at Crookrise by Brita Satzer

Capel Curig trip week 3 term 2 - 2007 By Alan Onslow

Crib Goch - ‘pain on one side, death on the other’ By Louise Shaw

My First Scottish Winter Climb By Glyn Hudson

A Cairngorm Night By David Fountain

My Cairngorm ‘Snowhole’ Experience By Tim Slater

Democracy in Action! By James Ackroyd

“The Day My Bag Fell Off The Edge” By Jenny Jones

How not to climb a mountain By David Fountain

Aguille Du L’M – The Mini Epic By Perry Bateman

Editor’s Glossary

Chilling out on a sunny afternoon in Wales

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Note from the editor

Hello everyone! It’s finally finished! I’ve really enjoyed compiling it. Reading everyone’s stories has allowed me to re-

live so many good times! I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has contributed to make this a

BEAST of a document. Anyone wish to volunteer their printer credits?

On behalf of all the exec I would like to thank all the walk leaders, drivers, trip organisers, cooks, cake bakers and any-

one else who has helped with the running of the club this year. You know who you are. This year for the second year

running the club is stronger than ever. Every trip has been over subscribed and I can safely say that never before has

the club seen people turning up at 6:30am (Tim) for a trip sign up and that trip being full by 7:30am!

Note of warning to readers: Don’t be put-off or scared after reading some of the events described in a couple of the

articles. They have mainly been written by a couple of members of the exec who have a habit of getting themselves

into certain situations! They are far from the norm of Warwick Mountains and the average club trip.

All that is left to say is, enjoy the balti goodness that is the exec hand-over curry, and fingers crossed for fair alpine

weather and sun drenched weekend

trips!

- Glyn Hudson

A Year in numbers:

Trips organised: 7

Miles driven: 2876

Mini buses damaged: 2

Injuries: 0 (not counting pub golf!)

Fatalities: 0

GOOD RESULT TEAM!

15/04/2008

Your Glowtastic exec

From back left: Louise Shaw (merchandise) , EdCocoran (treasurer) , Amy Underwood Thompson(social secretary), Ben Falconer (webmaster), GlynHudson (secretary), Alan Onslow (president),David Fountain (expedition officer), James Ackroyd(president), Amy Nichalson (gear officer)

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Upon turning 21 many people commented “You’re old now”, they were, however, incorrect. For I, like Bernard Ba-

ruch, believe “old age is always 15 years older than I am”. With that in mind, it was with great pleasure that I

learned that I would have the privilege of celebrating this milestone on our club trip to Yorkshire.

While most trips begin sitting in Rootes, hearing about the gale force winds and torrential rain, this trip was differ-

ent. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and due to the generosity

of a great friend, I was camped out on the Piazza offering champagne

and cake to everyone on the trip (except drivers, I do apologise).

Whether due to inebriation or good organisation, we quickly found

ourselves tucked up in minibuses and heading for the Dales. As usual,

a nice stop for some nutrition was provided and I found myself in

Domino’s ordering a pizza. It was only afterwards I realised that for

my 21st birthday meal I ate

pizza while sitting on the

p a v e m e n t o u t s i d e

McDonalds – And people

say I’m not sophisticated.

However, all was not lost as the cashier, while commenting that it was my

birthday, “accidentally” gave me too much change.

Once we had arrived in Malham and sorted the walks for Saturday, I was

overwhelmed by the efforts of “Team Amy”. A cake and card were pre-

sented to me, signed by most, if not all those on the trip. The pub then

beckoned as the alcoholics (no names mentioned) needed a drink.

6am starts are not usual on club trips, but having undertaken the effort to

buy eggs and bacon I needed to start early if I was to have my cooked

breakfast, and I’m telling you it was worth it. We all got off on our walks

without any major incidents; although I think the phrase “third time lucky”

applies to the 3-peaks

group. We all enjoyed a

lovely walk, taking in the local attraction that is the Ribblehead Via-

duct and learning that it is extremely difficult to throw a stone over

it. We did however manage to find some trouble. Those signs which

read “No trespassing – maximum fine £1000” don’t usually strike

fear in me, but unfortunately we found ourselves near Ribblehead

station with one Rail Officer shouting something about trespassing

and fines; we made haste. The rest of the day was pleasant, if em-

barrassing. As those of you who went on the trip will know, I was

challenged to keep my ‘21’ balloons on me until Saturday evening. I

was more then happy to accept this challenge, as they proved to

cause little bother. I had, however, underestimated the confusion they would cause. Being two separate balloons,

even I was surprised and then embarrassed as we met walkers and, after exchanging the customary hellos, heard

them whispering to each other “Do you think he was 12 or 21?”

After completing our walk in Horton, Ed and I accompanied by Martin and Richard, took on the responsibility of wait-

ing for the 3-peaks group to return. After a quick trip to the pub (to re-hydrate, honestly!) we thought we ought to

Twenty one: What a Birthday...What a Trip!!

Big boy

21 or 12 ?

Ribblehead Viaduct– just a stone throw away

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await the return of our weary yet surely victorious companions in the bus. However, as darkness descended the min-

utes continued to tick by. We had the pleasure of using ‘ye olde red telephone box’ to try and make contact but were

unsuccessful, and a couple of nervous hours were spent wondering whether it was werewolves or mountain ghosts

that had delayed the group. But we were happy to find that they returned fit and well and in good spirits. Well done

chaps and chapesses. After a quick drive home, where I was able to experience the thrill of driving ‘The Beast’, we

enjoyed the now customary group cooking and I think an enjoyable night was had

by all: Glyn experiencing orange juice in the eye and Amy #2 discovering it’s fun to

pour custard on people.

Sunday’s walks varied significantly and I can only comment on mine which involved

a lot of ‘bagging’ of various streams and caves and then harassing people with

Louise’s camera as we concocted various impossible scenes, such as ‘What would

Louise look like as a man?’ I think congratulations are in order for everyone who

completed the Yorkshire Three peaks challenge, and a big thanks to Amy #1 for

organising a magnificent trip. May I take this opportunity to thank everyone on the

trip for making my 21st birthday such a memorable occasion.

- Alan Onslow

Team Alan

Phwoar!

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While Alan’s group were still detangling themselves from balloons and hatching the plan to give a group of non drivers

the key to the mini bus, we successfully found our way out of the car park and heading towards the correct peak in a

smoother than smooth fashion. During the ascent it was politely pointed out by Tom that my bag appeared to be leak-

ing. In my enthusiastic haste to empty the offending

platypus, I failed to have either a first or final drink

from it. I was far more occupied with the fact that I

had been provided with an excellent cover story for

any embarrassing sweat patches that may appear

later. Otherwise, Pen-y-Ghent -peak number one- was

reached without hiccup and in good time; Tim’s lycra

clad behind was a timely morale booster, spurring eve-

ryone on just before the summit.

Ben’s fast group overtook us on the descent of Pen-y-

Ghent at a rather nice boggy patch. As they all

ploughed through it, emerging as if fresh from a mud

bath, we were pleased to hear David say we could pick

our way more carefully. He told us the key was to ‘read the terrain’. However, suddenly knee deep in mud, he kindly

took it upon himself to demonstrate what routes were best avoided.

The quick first summit was deceptive in regards to the next

two peaks. But what would have been a laborious slog be-

tween Pen-y-ghent and Whernside –peak number two- was

broken up with some wholesome fun in the form of pooh

sticks. My ‘contestant’, which bordered more on a whole,

albeit dead, plant rather than a stick, proved to be the win-

ner. Louise’s twig is still MIA. Other entertainment also came

from Scruff Scruff, a dog who took a particular shine to

David in spite his abusive mutterings about its poor behav-

iour as the owners fruitlessly called it to heel.

The summit of Whernside was reached with relief; it felt

long overdue. We were behind schedule and the thought of

a third peak was in danger of slowing the pace of the group still further. However, there’s nothing like some snow to

bring out the hyper child in people, and luckily there were some sparse patches along the ridge. I discovered that a

most undesirable position to be in, in regards to snowballage, is having a poor enough aim to miss, but a good enough

one to reveal to the ‘target’ that they were the intended victim.

With the sun low in the sky on finishing the descent of Whernside it felt as if the day should end there, yet there was

still the third peak to be knocked off. Unexpected motivation during the walk-in to the steps of Ingleborough –peak

number three- came in the form of a lad complete with baseball cap, drawstring bag and a pronounced limp. He had

been abandoned by his friends, although shouts of ‘Come on Gareth’ could sporadically be heard from the hillside. De-

spite his painful looking hobble and frequent breaks, we frustratingly didn’t seem to be closing any distance on him.

However, we finally managed to mow him down and, smug with satisfaction, jubilantly ploughed our way on to the

top.

The Three Peaks - 8th Feb 2008

Running off in very provocative wear

Man’s best friend?

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Our other incentive had been to reach the summit in time to see the sun go down. We didn’t quite make it, but the

lighting that came from the immediate effects of the sunset was equally, if not more, magical. It washed away all the

complaints of our feet and other aching parts as we ambled across to the cairn in awed silence.

As the others retreated for a snack attack before the final

descent, I went looking for a more private spot. Sod’s law,

despite my water situation, I was still experiencing the ‘call

of nature’. Luckily I stumbled across a suitable wind break

just out of sight; someone had very thoughtfully built up a

semi circular wall of stones over which there was a superb

view. I had not had such a moving, alfresco toilet experi-

ence since my gap year; it was a very poignant moment.

With the last summit out of the way, the tiredness and cold

that had managed to be kept at bay, now seemed to set in

with a vengeance. It was after 6:00pm, and for some of us

the day had started at the ungodly hour of 6:30am, when

someone had come crashing into the kitchen to prepare a cooked breakfast for himself. Travelling two to a head torch

also didn’t lend itself to a speedy pace, so David felt the need to set a party atmosphere to try and liven things up a

bit. After he courageously went through several verses of Oasis, Louise and I decided to lend our talents to the occa-

sion. Having been banned from public singing ever since attempting The Foundations’ ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’ after the

Freshers’ Ball in my first year, this was all very exciting for me. We had a broad repertoire, but the song of the night

was undisputedly the Raconteurs’ ‘Steady as She Goes’.

We rocked up to the minibus hoarse, but victorious and very grateful to see Alan, Ed and Martin. Obviously I was gut-

ted to have missed a substantial part of my cooking duties...slaving away for hours in a strange kitchen, dealing with

40 tins of tomatoes and using utensils blatantly made for giants.

- Amy Underwood Thompson Productions

Last Light

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The golden sun shyly bathed the unfurling carpet of rolling green hills, green crested waves of a choppy sea. The web

of clouds streaked the blue sky which stretched out overhead promising a clear

day and much possibility of good hiking. Thin, papery, vein-like paths trace

their life steadily across the map of the land: Yorkshire Dales. We set off

buoyantly after lacing up our walking boots, ready to trudge through mud,

sludge, water, whatever lay in the path to climb Mount Ingleborough. I was

content to have the challenge of the highest of the three peaks rather than

the famous three peak challenge itself in the Dales.

Off we went, chattering away (that may mostly have been me). Gentle bird

song weaved its way across the air, birds ducked and dived in the sweet open

canvas of sky that spring had brought, sheep bleated amicably to one another,

probably saying “What are these weirdoes doing up at this time of the morn-

ing?!” I soon wondered that myself as we stopped frequently for our guide to

pore puzzlingly over the map and look around himself slightly worried. I trans-

lated his expression as meaning “this hill is not where it should be according

to my calculations.” He would then march off resolutely and we would follow

(foolishly and blindly) some might say. One of our group members was learn-

ing how to navigate and our guide said modestly that she was learning from a

master that boded well!

Soon the sun flooded our path and set the marbled green hills sparkling like

emeralds. The rays of sunshine infused me with optimism that I could climb

the massive hill that loomed up suspiciously upon my eye line, all 723m of it.

My heart sank to the soles of my feet as we drew closer to it. We passed out

of the glorious sunshine into the cool, dark shadow of the hill as our ascent

began. It sloped up gently at first, lulling me into a false sense of security. As

it inclined more steeply, I set my jaw determinedly, ceased talking (a rare

moment for me!) and focused all my energy and concentration on placing one foot in front of the other, hoping this

hell would be over soon. The air was pierced by the straining and huffing and puffing of our breathing; grunts of exer-

tion peppered the quiet of nature. Buds of sweat poured in small, slick rivulets down my face (who says hiking trips

are not the best place to hook up with someone?).

After an eternity I reached the

top, well I thought it was the

top as it kind of looked like it,

only to find out that I had an-

other smaller hill to climb which

was slightly hidden from view

before I reached the absolute

top! When I got there, the view

was thankfully well worth it. I would never climb a hill/mountain on

a cloudy day. All that exertion would be a waste as there would be

no view. Hmph! The blanket of sapphire blue sky rolled out in a

smooth wave as far as the eye could see, colliding gently with the

horizon of mist shrouded hills. Now we just had to tackle coming

Hiking in the Sun drenched Yorkshire Dales—9th Feb 2008

Who’s the king of the castle?

Yay, a bridge! Woo!

The Bunkhouse

Rolling Dales

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down, not quite so tough. We trudged on for miles, falling into a steady rhythm, our feet

rising and falling in time with one another. The sun slowly sank behind the hills as if they

were tucking it up in bed, leaving a trail blaze of gold and purple upon the sky.

We arrived back at the hut to warm showers and thoughts of a huge pasta and bread

and butter pudding feast. This banquet was however delayed by one walking group not

returning until pitch black 9pm! This group just so happened to have one of the main

chefs in it. The meal was worth the wait though. Everyone tucked in ravenously and

swapped tales of trekking from the day, sinking into the warmth of the hut. After dinner,

I bagged myself a prime spot on one of the soft, deep sofas and proceeded to stay there

all night. It was so close to the kitchen area that I could have pancakes (with my name

written on them) passed over to me, without having to move an inch! Life does not get

better than that. I snuggled back into the sofa, listened to the rich murmur of voices flowing around me like a gentle,

bubbling spring stream and closed my eyes, savouring a perfect day.

- Catherine Boycott

Pancake in the making?

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For me it is my first year in England and therefore my first year with WM. I just started going on your trips at the end

of term one but then I took part in all the trips in the second term as it is just so nice with you! :-)

Of all these four trips, there was just one without rain! This

was Amy’s trip to the Yorkshire Dales which was called week

six trip but actually was in week 5. After a whole day of hiking

on and between the three peaks we were pretty tired on Sat-

urday evening. Some people even had to use part of the night

to finish their walk!

On Sunday we decided to make the most of the sun

and go climbing.

After a lovely breakfast that included a portion of

bread-and-butter-pudding with custard we took the

people carrier and went to Crookrise. David and

Glyn had chosen a lovely group of rocks that were

lying in the sun all day. In fact it was winter but the

weather couldn’t have been much better in the

summer. The stone was dry and the view was

amazing. In-between our climbs we relaxed in the sun.

I really enjoyed the climbing. Climbing indoors is nice but to go outside is just different and soooo good. But you

should know that already!

- Britta Satzer

Cimbing at Crookrise in Yorkshire

Saturdays Walk - A sunny trip!

Britta on ‘Flake Wall’ VS 4b

Morning Light Relaxing at Crookrise

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I think it's fair to say that this trip was 'cosy'. For those of us privileged to get a space on the floor I think we can say

that it was frickin cold - But then we're 'ard so it's all ok.

Saturday: Daniel, Johnnie, Louise and I were in anticipation of a great day,

taking in the summits of Y Garn (947m) and Foel Goch (831m) via the ascent

of Devil’s Kitchen. Unlike its name this gentle ascent made a great start to

the day and before we knew it we had reached the beginning of the ascent

of Devil’s Kitchen. Here the ground turned more technical, but this just made

it more fun. Halfway up we found this amazing cave, which I lost no time

jumping into. It wasn't too spacious and not the driest in the world, but if the

conditions turned dire I would always be glad to find something like it. Once

we reached the col we decided to divert to

see the nearby tarn, which had become

frozen on the edges to such an extent that we were able to stand on it - although I

nearly browned myself when first testing it. The final ascent up to Y Garn was steep

but enjoyable. We had a bite to eat at the summit before cruising on down into bad

weather to start the ascent to Foel Goch, a rather unsubstantial summit. Once found

it was decided to find a descent route straight away. The route chosen was a steep

scree slope - everyone’s favorite. If only scree skiing

wasn't bad for the environment!! The descent was slow

but we had made excellent time previously and so did-

n't worry when we stopped for a half hour natter mid-

descent. The rest of the route was plain sailing, ending

up at the cafe in Idwal for a well deserved sausage roll

and hot chocolate.

The evening meal was immense. My gratitude goes to the Head Chefs Caroline and Amy

No1 as well as all other helpers (btw those who haven't paid, I’m coming after you!). I as

usual managed to eat far too much and thus couldn't even finish my one pint at the pub –

Disgraceful.

Sunday: I decided to do a spectacular walk up Moel Siabod(872m) with Mark, Becca, Mar-

tin, Sarah, Gemma and Louise. We followed the route suggested by 'Club Uncle' Jimmy

and visited all three Llyns on the east side. The second of which was spectacular as it was

crystal clear and, if Wales ever does get hot, would be perfect to take a quick dip to cool

down. As we continued the ascent, the weather worsened and waterproofs had to be donned. The final ascent was

made with a few small sections of scrambling to make things interesting. As is usual, once the peak was reached the

conditions were so bad we just bombed it down the mountain to get out of the

wind. The descent was quite good, with a small copse at the end and a great view

into Plas y Brenin's dry ski slope. As all good days finish, we ended up in the cafe in

Capel Curig where I was able to indulge in a white chocolate milkshake, mmmmn!

After we had all been sufficiently refreshed we headed back to the car park and met

the other groups to leave. Unfortunately my bus had to wait for Caroline and Will

who were in the middle of a small epic that meant we didn't leave Wales till late -

But it was all good.

- Alan Onslow

Capel Curig trip week 3 term 2 - 2007

This might look like un-suitable clothing, but afew minutes earlier wehad seen a fell runnerjogging in a T-shirt andshorts (at a few hundredfeet on the snow)!

Modern man

Walking on thin ice

Saturday’s Crew

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Term 2 Week 2: Crib Goch

Having had Crib Goch described to me as pain on one side and

death on the other, it seemed silly not to give it a go. And so I

did. Thus on a typical Welsh January day, with the sky covered

by grey clouds and with a slight chill in the air, I set off to walk

up Snowdon, and then go down via Crib Goch.

The walk up was fairly standard comprising of a flattish path by

a lake followed by the general uphill slog that we all know so

well, this time involving steps. Once we hit the end of the steps

and the mist, the walk became more interesting. At the walks

meeting the night before, Francis (the walk leader) had promised

scrambling, and so we went the slightly less direct but more interesting route, which seemed to involve more scram-

bling down than up. It did make the walk more interesting though, and before I knew it, we were at the top of Snow-

don, where as ever there were remarkable views.

Happy to have reached the top of the mountain,

we then began our walk back. It was decision

time, it was wet and misty, so we had to decide

whether to go down via Crib Goch or the safer

tourist track of the miner’s track. We all decided

to give Crib Goch a go. To reach Crib Goch, we

had to go over a few scrambling bits. At the end

of each one, I kept thinking, we must have done

it now. But alas no, the worst was yet to come. I

was later told that Crib Goch is a way up Snow-

don rather than a way down, and I can see why.

Scrambling down is a lot harder than scrambling

up, and there were a few episodes of sliding,

rather than walking. What made it even harder

was the damp from the mist on the rocks making

them slippery.

After going over the scrambly preludes, we reached Crib Goch. For those who haven’t seen it, it’s a very pointy ridge

of rock, easier to walk along the side of, using the pointy top as hand holds. I’d like to say that I wasn’t fazed at all by

it, taking it all in my stride. Unfortunately that would be a lie. I’m still not sure whether it was better or worse having

the mist there, as it meant that I could only see down a couple of metres. This meant that I never fully able to appre-

ciate Jenny’s description of it being pain on one side and death on the other. However, perhaps I should be thankful

that I couldn’t see and was able to do it in blissful ignorance.

We went along bit by bit. I don’t think I’ve ever stared at rock for such a long time before. We went fairly slowly, all

concentrating on not falling. Even Tim was quiet for part of it. Little by little we moved along. There was a slightly

daunting part in the middle, when the pointy ridge evens out to a flat bit. It’s only about one metre long, but I had to

leave the safety of the handholds. I think the general idea is that you stand up and walk along what is probably a fairly

wide bit of rock. That however was too much for me, and so once more I went with the hardcore mountaineering

Crib Goch: Pain on one side, Death on the other

Contemplating a step

Traversing the ‘pain’ side of the ridge

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technique of the bum slide. Always a winner! This was followed by more sidestepping along the side of the ridge until

we finally reached the end of Crib Goch.

The rest of the walk was fairly easy after that, even though it did involve scree, not one of my favourite types of path.

We reached the car park just as it was getting dark, all rather worn out but satisfied we’d conquered Crib Goch.

- Louise Shaw

Tim demonstrating the ‘all four point contact’ technique

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After a pre-daylight wakeup (a first for New Year’s Day) and a brisk

walk in; David and I found ourselves at the foot of 'The Runnel', a

135m mixed ice climb in Coire an t-Sneachda. Coire an t-Sneachda

is one of the largest corries on the North West face of the Cairn-

gorm massif. Eager not to look the incompetent student type, we

wasted no time in gearing up and soloing up to the first belay. Two

nuts in a crack and a few crampon fuelled gymnastic 'stepping-over

-the-rope' moves later David set off daggering up the steepening

gully.

I shouted up “HALF WAY” when the little black mark on the rope

passed through my belay device; 'OK' was the muffled reply from

above. Confident that David knew what he was doing (sort of) I

went back to entertaining myself watching chunks of ice come whizzing down the gully, some making a whistling

sound. After a while I shouted “TWO METRES” when there were only a few coils of rope left. David replied by repeat-

ing my call in a tone of anxiety, I repeated “YEAH, TWO METRES”. A few tense mo-

ments passed until David shouted down reluctantly “OK, GIVE ME A MINUTE”.

As soon as the standard “CLIMB WHEN YOURRR READYYY” call was heard I disman-

tled the belay and set off up the gully. This is when I realized that the climb was not in

perfect condition. The air was mild and the snow and ice was melting rapidly, every so

often I would feel the front points of my crampons hit the rock underneath. It was

hard work; I began to wish I had not been so enthusiastic with my layers of clothing. I

looked up and saw David perched awkwardly in what was definitely not his preferred

belay stance! David informed me that he had run out of

rope “I can see,” I replied with a little snigger. I managed

to loop a sling round a large rock spike just below and to

the right of David. I then sat back letting my harness take

the strain on what was a much more luxurious belay stance.

The next pitch was much the same, David yet again over estimating a 60m rope. It was

fairly straightforward apart from a tricky side stepping move over a rib of rock, at which I

felt glad I wasn't leading. As I got to the next belay I cast my

eyes upwards to see where the route was going next. All I

could see was a horrific looking mixed (rock and ice) chim-

ney on the right. I looked at David and seeing my alarm he

informed me the route went up and to the left. I leaned out

as far as my belay sling would allow to have another look. I saw another mixed chimney,

a bit more open but just as un-inviting. David didn't seem particularly phased by the

proposition. So we carried on.

I could only just see the bottom of the chimney from my belay stance so how David

climbed it remains a mystery. All I could do was pay out rope when it was needed and

hope everything would be ok. Finally after a tense 20min or so I felt hard, repeated tugs

on the rope. This was the signal that David was ‘safe’ but out of earshot. It was my time to shine.

My First Scottish Winter Climb - 1st January 2008

The Runnel - Coire an t’Sneachda

David on the 1st pitch

Myself on the luxuriousbelay

(spot the cam)

Looking down the 2nd pitch

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I decided only to wear my thin gloves to give me as much dexterity as possible. After a few metres I realized this was

a bad move. Plunging my hands into slushy snow and ice on

every move was a numbing experience. The ‘fine icy chim-

ney’ (as described in the guide book) was rather thin on ice.

The thin layer of rapidly melting slush was barley sufficient

for ice axes to gain purchase (definitely Scottish grade III

David informed me later). I noticed some sparks come flying

from the front points of my crampons as they hit some rock

“that's really cool,” I thought to myself as I struggled with the

next move.

At the top of the chimney I was greeted with a steep slope of

hard compacted snow leading up to a small cornice. This was

straightforward but tiring as my calves were filling with lactic acid and I had lost all feeling in my fingers. After posing

for a rather shaky photo I topped out onto the Cairngorm plateau. For once the

plateau was not living up to its fierce reputation of high winds and zero visibility, it

was actually quite pleasant. As my hands quickly warmed up I experienced the ‘hot

aches’; they can only be described as pins and needles times ten. David informed

me that people have passed out from hot aches in the past as I jumped up and

down in agony. Luckily for both of us that was not the case with me

Manly thumps on the back were exchanged and we both agreed that was our best

ever New Year’s Day. The walk down was a high spirited affair and before long we were back in the mini-bus looking

forward to a generously sized portion Chilli-Con-Carne (cooked by the zero Michelin star chef Mr.Fountaine) with a

'wee dram' of Famous Grouse once we got back to the Youth Hostel.

- Glyn Hudson

The ‘fine icy chimney’ in fuller condition - Photo taken from UKC

Shaky Top-out Photo

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David’s Account:

Another gust almost knocked me off my feet; I checked the compass and took another few steps forward, the limit of

visibility in the blizzard. I turned to confirm I still had three companions before checking the compass and taking a few

more steps.

I was acutely aware of the seriousness of the situation; we were heading away from civilisation, across the Cairngorm

plateaux, in a severe blizzard. Visibility was occasionally as good as five metres and it was a constant battle to stay on

my feet. The wind was blowing from the side, it was inevitable that we were being

blown sideways off our bearing, but I could only guess at how much correction to

make.

Minutes later the blizzard eased for a couple of seconds, just enough to get a

quick glance at the terrain around. There was no sign of the corrie we planned

to snow hole in. We could only battle onwards, hoping we hadn’t gone far

enough. Alarmingly the ground soon began to slope down hill, and inspection of

the map showed that we must have passed the corrie some time ago to either

our left or right. I searched out a little shelter in some rocks, and pulled the GPS

out of my bag. Switching it on was an admission of navigational defeat, but I

knew there was more than pride at stake. Sadly it was unable to find any satel-

lites (probably due to all the snow in the air), simply displaying the helpful ques-

tion “Are you indoors?”…

We tried to descend into the nearest valley as the start of a long walk back to the

hostel. However, Tim’s crampons kept coming off; no amount of persuasion

would make them stay on. As the terrain steepened towards Scottish grade I, I called a halt. A decision had to be

made. To continue the deteriorating descent with a winter novice whose kit was failing, or to struggle back over the

plateaux, right into the teeth of the storm, and back down to the hostel. I had a 30m walking rope, once we were

down in the valley we would be below the freezing level, out of the wind, safe, but I knew it could take hours to belay

Tim down the hundreds of metres to the valley while the rest of us down climbed. We decided to head back over the

plateaux.

I only just heard Ben’s faint shout, “stop”. I turned around; Ben and Tim were at the limit of visibility. Tim’s pace was

slowing alarmingly and I was immensely relieved Ben had stayed with Tim and had called for Glyn and I to stop. We

had the vague hope that pumping Tim full of sugar would see us over the plateaux. Glyn searched in the top of Tim’s

rucksack and found Tim’s packet of ‘foam fruits’, which Tim was virtually force fed. We attempted to forge onwards

but things were little better. Tim was struggling to catch his breath in the cold air, Glyn administered his inhaler, and

we tried to press on. Unfortunately we were barely moving, Tim appeared exhausted, and the lack of activity was

making us all dangerously cold. It was a most unenviable position; if we tried to get over the plateaux now we might

never make it. There were a few boulders nearby offering very limited protection from the wind and the snow it blew.

We all had sleeping bags, Glyn and I had bivy bags, Ben and Tim plastic survival bags. The decision to stop for the

night was made; the time was about 4:30pm…

... I had plenty of time to reflect on our situation from the cramped confines of my bivy bag. It was now about 6pm

and we would have to sit it out until just before dawn. I lay there listening to the howl of the wind and munched the

four squares of chocolate that comprised my emergency ration. Smiling to myself, I remembered Amy’s suggestion

that emergency rations should be wrapped in wrapping paper, to boost morale in an emergency situation. My choco-

late was wrapped with black duck tape, and did little to improve my morale or relieve my hunger.

A Cairngorm Night - 4th January 2008

‘Are you indoors?’…..

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As we had bedded down for the night I had given Glyn the pack of biscuits that we had planned to have with custard

for dessert. There hadn’t been enough space for the four of us to fit ‘comfortably’ by the same boulders, so he had

elected to find his own spot about ten metres away. I desperately wanted to wish him, “good luck”, but didn’t to let

on to Tim how serious the situation was, so Glyn got a “good night” instead! At that stage I had still entertained the

idea of cooking the masses of pasta we had brought with us. It was a stupid idea. Initially attempts at lighting the

stove were fruitless. I curled tightly around it in an attempt to block some of the wind. At the next attempt the pipe

between the gas cylinder and burner erupted into the yellow flames of burning liquid (as opposed to the controlled

blue flames of burning vapour) at the point where the pipe met the burner. Considering this was inches away from my

bivy bag this was all somewhat alarming. I inspected the stove closely, the burner appeared to be blocked with ice,

and guessed this was the reason why it was malfunctioning. I stuffed the whole thing down my sleeping bag between

my thighs to melt the ice. This did the trick, for I was then able to get the thing lit. That was only half the battle

though, to keep it lit I had to spoon myself tightly around it at the same time as holding the lid, pan and stove down to

prevent them being blown away! After a further hour of cold frustration I managed to melt enough snow to get a

whole mug full of lukewarm water with bits of moss in it. Tim and I shared this, to our parched lips it was wonderful,

but sadly lacking in quantity. Poor Ben was just out of arms

reach, and so he got nothing. Having failed to produce dinner

I searched in Tim’s rucksack, for anything edible, and found a

massive angel cake. I thrust this at him and commanded him

to eat it all before morning, hoping the calories would help

him fend off the cold.

7pm. Loud gasping sounds were coming from Tim’s direction.

My immediate thought was that he was having an asthma at-

tack. I remembered that Glyn still had Tim’s inhaler, and I

wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of having to fetch it. I

sat up and peeped out of the tennis-ball-sized air hole at Tim.

I shouted at him if he was ok, it appeared that the noise was

due to his exertion as he tried to stop himself sliding down the

slope. I asked if he felt cold, “no” he replied, I told him he must wake me up if he started to shiver, and laid back. A

short while later Ben slid on top of me. He had been sliding down the slope from his own position a few metres away

and had wisely decided to move, he was now above me in a tiny gulley between two boulders. My feet were braced

on a boulder, his feet were at my head, I was stopping him sliding down. Sleep seemed unlikely.

I must have dozed off for a short while, however, I awoke to snow all around my head; spin drift was pouring in

though the air hole. I looked at my watch; it was 10:00pm. I felt confident Glyn would still be there in the morning.

He had Amy’s bivy bag and sleeping bag, warmer than mine. Besides, he did have my biscuits. I wondered if our

friendship would survive the incident if the others passed away and if anything would be the same again. Ben’s feet

were underneath my head, he was shivering. Whilst he shivered I need not worry about him. I sat up again to check

on Tim. I feared that I would fall asleep and wake in the morning, to find them both gone, frozen. Their survival bags

simply didn’t provide as much protection from the elements as a bivy bag. I cursed myself again for not remembering

to get the group shelter off the others before they went down and deeply regretted my decision not to pack my belay

jacket, for the one walk where it would have made a real difference. I gradually became overcome with despair. I had

let everyone down. How would I face my club mates again? I called myself an idiot out loud over and over again; it

must have passed another hour.

It is hard to describe the discomfort of the storm. If anyone wants to experience a taster of that night I suggest you

lay in a sleeping bag, on a flight of stairs, with your feet braced against something. Someone is lying above you,

braced against your shoulders, and the staircase is situated in a wind tunnel. Snow is continuously being brushed over

your face and the sound of a vacuum cleaner is being played over the union sound system. You haven’t eaten for six

Getting a brew on!

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hours and know you won’t for at least another twelve. Imagine you have just crashed your car with three mates in it;

it was your fault but you are unhurt while they are, potentially, critically ill. Get the

picture?

At 11pm I awoke again into this hell. After checking that Ben and Tim were still

alive, my mind began to wander once more. I imagined the others back in the hos-

tel, sat talking by the fire, cherishing a fun day on the mountain, and my own family

at home, all blissfully unaware. Gradually, however, my mind refocused as I be-

came aware I was going to have to deal with the ‘call of nature’. My water bottle

was in my rucksack, buried under the snow outside and there was nothing else to

hand to use as a pee bottle. I had to go out to relieve myself. By the time I was

back in the relative haven of my sleeping bag I was shivering uncontrollably, I

forced myself to do a hundred sit ups which warmed me up considerably.

I had been concerned that at about 2-3am, when the temperature is at its lowest,

even I might succumb to the cold, but as time dragged on I became sure I would

see the dawn. I began to think about the morning once more. I was the most experienced, I had got us into the

mess, it was my responsibility to get everyone out, and as each minute passed by, I became more confident about

everyone’s chances. I was still worried though that Tim might be too cold to move. My fuel starved, dehydrated brain

would have to pull something out of the bag, and there would be no room for navigational error.

At 6.30 am I flicked on my head torch. The wind was still blowing snow everywhere, although it had died down

slightly. Of our ‘sacs and kit there was no sign, only snow drifts in their place. I shouted to Ben that it was time we

got moving and told Tim to stay where he was for the moment. I asked Tim if he had eaten all the cake and was an-

noyed to find that he hadn’t, I told him in no uncertain terms to finish it quickly. I then spent an anxious 5 minutes

trying to locate my gloves in the depths of my sleeping bag. To lose them would render me incapable of navigation

and invite frostbite. Fortunately, I found them and started to dig out our kit. Thankfully the first thing I found was my

ice axe, which allowed me to dig out my rucksack which had my boots inside. Ben started sorting himself out and we

helped each other pack up our sleeping bags. I happily informed Ben that “we’re all alive!” he replied that last night

he hadn’t been certain of such an outcome. Our boots were frozen solid and the tongues had to be broken loose with

the axes; forcing damp cold feet into frozen boots does not come highly recommended, take it from me! All of this

had taken quite some time and it was now light. Ben went to wake Glyn up,

whilst I helped Tim get up, dressed and packed. I glanced in the direction of

Ben and Glyn, I couldn’t see that well but Glyn’s bivy bag was bellowing in the

wind, Ben was knelt down beside it. Tim couldn’t find his coat. It wasn’t with

him in the survival bag. With a confidence I didn’t have I told him it must be

buried in the snow. I started to dig about with my ice axe, glancing back to Ben

still kneeling beside Glyn’s bivy bag. With rising panic I ran round to the snow

below where Tim had slept, and dug like a madman. The axe adze slipped on

something red, Tim’s coat, “I’ve got it”, I shouted. I turned around, to my in-

tense relief Glyn and Ben were both stood there. Ben had simply been digging

Glyn out of the snow.

“Morning David”, Glyn and Ben had wandered over to Tim and I, “morning” I

replied, “any biscuits left?” There weren’t, he had eaten them all thinking that

we were tucking into a kilogram of pasta with ham and leek sauce! He switched

on my GPS, which now decided to work. I was cheered to realise that I had

only missed the corrie by a couple of hundred metres the night before, and set a bearing for the upper ski centre, and

Visit Scotland

What responsibility does to ones eyes

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we set off. All the time the weather was clearing, giving some spectacular winter

views through the spindrift. Up ahead I glimpsed the upper ski centre, although

we still had some way to go before we got down to safety, the tricky navigation

was over. The walk down to James in the bus was magical. The views were

splendid, and we were alive, all of us. I enjoyed the stumble down to safety in a

hunger induced trance, my mind barely working, drugged by a mix of joy and

exhaustion, a sensation that will be familiar to all endurance athletes. Sadly the

nearest most people get to experience this is a long walk home from a hard night

out.

As we neared the car park a group of people walked the other way, up onto the

mountains, what they thought of us I can only guess. Spying the blue minibus,

we went over and I opened the door. I will never forget James’ greeting, “did

you have a good night?”

After drowning myself in the shower I sat in the hostel dining room alone. Wash-

ing a weeks worth of cereal down with a pot of tea, I gazed out the window at

the mountains, deep in thought. Eventually I snapped myself back into the real world and wandered into the common

room to be with the others. They had cracked open a few cans of beer and were happily going through Glyn’s amus-

ing video diaries of the night. We decided there was only one way to pass the time until the rest of the club returned

from their day walk. To watch ‘Top Gun’!

- David Fountain

The news report the next day

All you can eat pizza!

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Tim’s Account:

Date of event: 4th /5th January 2008

Date of writing: 18th March 2008

It all began on the morning of 4th January 2008. The plan was to climb Cairngorm, and

then find a region to the north, previously visited on

New Year’s Day, where conditions were suitable to

build a snow hole.

In the interest of brevity, I shall skip the first chapter

Needless to say having reached Cairngorm’s summit in blizzard conditions we re-

turned to the top of the ski slope, where they were evacuating the mountain of

skiers. One gentleman was kind enough to provide us with some free chips and

soup. This was most excellent of him. Then the group of us intending to do the

snow holing set off into the blizzard. One

memory that sticks with me now, as it

did throughout that night, is that as we

left one of the instructor types called af-

ter us “Take care lads.”

Out we went, following David onto the mountainside. Conditions were poor

and a minor navigational error meant we failed to reach our intended

snowhole area, much to our annoyance. (In the end it transpired we were just

a few 100m from our intended location, if that.) Anyway, conditions were

worsening and after testing the snow where we were for snow hole compatibility, we resorted to GPS to tell us where

we were. It didn’t work.

All was not going well, the weather was closing in, as was the night, and morale was beginning to drop. We tried to

rectify our navigational error, but that led us to a situation where we were walking down an ever steepening gradient,

almost cliff-like in nature. Anyway, it was decided that this wasn’t the best of ideas, so we turned back, hoping to

make it back over the ridge and down the way we came, to arrive at the lodge in the dark.

However, my crampons came off. And then they came off again, and then again. Each time they came off we had to

stop for a period, a period that was too long given the conditions. Furthermore, I was seriously fatigued; I felt weak

and useless, and was struggling for breath, so much so that my inhaler had to come out, as a sufferer of mild asthma,

and Glyn dosed me up. Each step was an effort. Then, for the fourth time, my crampons came off.

Whilst I blithered in my own incompetence as the others tried to do what they could with my crampons. It was now

that the decision was made to bivi it behind some sheltering rocks at a suitable location. Said location was found, and

we made ourselves ready for a long night. Getting out of waterproofs was particularly difficult inside the sleeping bag,

and in the end I spent the night with my waterproof trousers around my ankles.

I was shivering from the cold and attempted to duck inside my sleeping bag and then somehow, seal off my survival

bag from inside my sleeping bag to prevent all the snow from blowing in. It was a most difficult task, and one I ended

up failing as testimony is given to later. After an hour or so, I believe, David shouted to me over the howling wind to

My Cairngorm ‘Snowhole’ Experience/ My First ‘Real’ Winter Day

Summit of Cairngorm

Ski train station

Walking up Cairngorm

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eat something, some sort of cake in the end- I think it was of the iced lemon drizzle variety. He also gave me one of

the most luxurious of things, given the circumstances, a few mouthfuls of warm snow that he had melted with his

stove- a highlight of the night.

By now the night had settled in, and with the wind and snow whooshing around us, I tried to get to sleep. It was a

most difficult of tasks since to enter this state, one had to jam one’s leg between the two adjacent rocks to prevent

oneself from slipping down and out onto the exposed mountainside, whilst trying to pull a sleeping bag, followed by a

survival bag over ones head without rolling around too much, as this leads to sleeping bags getting twisted and all in a

pickle. This was a struggle throughout the night, especially

with the added inconvenience, to put it mildly, of cramp set-

ting in later on.

Now a further inconvenience was that I had ‘extricate my

bladder’, after trying to hold in for a good few hours. After

weighing up all my options ( and I do mean all, I had just

found a vague position of moderate comfort and warmth) I

decided to get out of my sleeping/survival bag combo and

relieve myself over one of the rocks, between which I was

trying to sleep. This also gave me an opportunity to have a

look around, to the limits of my vision-which was depleted

severely by the dark and the wind and the snow, and as I

recall it now it had a strange beauty to it, a kind of musty twilight, although I don’t think I appreciated this at the time.

I got back inside my sleeping bag and once again began to try and find the optimal position for warmth and comfort,

sometime gaining ground, sometimes losing it. This battle continued until 7 o’clock, which David had shouted to me at

5 o’clock as being our time of ‘waking up’. So after having spent 15 hours- or thereabouts- out in the blizzard, we got

up and began to make ready to walk off the mountain.

Getting dressed was a bit of a challenge, since first one had to find one’s clothes either at the bottom of one’s survival

bag ,which, incidentally, contained a fair amount of snow that I subsequently carried down the mountain, in one’s

sleeping bag, which, incidentally, was completely sodden and spent the remaining days of the holiday in the drying

room dripping and a fair few subsequent weeks airing out in my room, or in the surrounding snow, which, inciden-

tally, had built up and a fair amount of stuff to reveal- the white thief!

The most difficult item I had to put on were my boots which were right at the bottom of my survival bag and whose

laces were frozen. Luckily David was at hand, and after some jiggery-pokery with an ice axe, I crammed my foot into

them and all the bits of snow they contained. My gaiters were also frozen, and the zips on them broke as I tried to pull

them up, I ended up having to rely on the Velcro to hold them up. Another casualty of the night was my long standing

ground mat, which had seen a good few years use, that ripped as I tried to pull it from the mass of snow that covered

it. On the bright side however, I did manage to find the other half of that cake I had eaten part of the night before

and wolfed it down. (Usually I would disagree with having cake for breakfast, but this situation was slightly different.)

Having made it through the night we were all fairly high-spirited and set off back the way we had come to the top of

the ski slope. Although not having done any of it, I should imagine that navigation at this point was rather tricky, see-

ing as how we did not know with certainty where we were and visibility was still poor. Yet we made it to the ski-

centre, where we snacked- I think Ben gave me some flapjack- and I dispensed of my useless gaiters before continu-

Warm snow in the making!

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ing down the mountain, following the ski-lifts/ mono-rail track. This was a bit of a laugh as you could never be sure

whether the next step you took would see your foot disappearing or your entire leg. I would also like to note, that sur-

prisingly, my crampons did not come off for the duration of this walk, if I recall correctly, if they did come off it must

have been only once in the whole morning rather than once every five minutes as they had done the previous night.

We arrived at the main track where I got rid of my waterproof trousers

due to their inordinate attempts to frustrate me by falling down every

ten yards or so. I think it was here where we all breathed a sigh of re-

lief as we could see the ski centre and the track leading there and we

knew that our ordeal was almost over.

We walked down the main track, to the car park, where, thankfully.

James was waiting for us in the minibus. As we walked to the minibus,

the gentleman who had given us the chips and soup was talking with a

group of other men, one of whom looked over and said “They’ve spent

a night on the mountain” , which, all in all, I found rather amusing and grinned inwardly, thus.

We drove back to the hostel, passing a ditched bus- that is to say a bus in a ditch-with the driver still sat behind the

wheel, which was strange, where after we had settled I ate a lot and watched Top Gun for the first time. And that was

that.

- Tim Slater

The morning after

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This year’s club exec elections were held in the Graduate Bar, before moving on

to the more alcoholic location of the Real Ale Festival. Warwick Mountains’ elec-

tions traditionally offer hilarity and humiliation and this year was certainly no ex-

ception!

Previous years have given us Mike in a sparkly golden thong (he also got so

drunk he ate the paper the results were written down on, and the crayon that

had been used to write them down with, for good measure) and last year Peter

ended up with a condom on his head. It was with these memories in mind that

myself and Alan approached the job of coming up with suitable challenges!

Tradition dictates that each previous holder of the exec position, plus all chal-

lengers, undertake a specific challenge. Someone must also represent the

option of ‘Re-Open Nominations’ (RON) in each and every challenge of the

evening and this year Mark ‘benevolent’ Burdett duly lived up to his name and

took one for the team.

Highlights of this year’s challenges included

cracker-eating; a game of ‘fluffy bunny’

with radishes; a hula challenge; a baby oil-

greased thumb war; shaving foam hairstyling; and a chilli-eating test.

And it was, sadly, this chilli-eating competition that put paid to our gallant RON, as

Mark, who after admitting beforehand that he ‘didn’t really like anything spicy’,

ended up eating a bird-eye chilli (given 4/5 on the Tesco hotness scale) and being

escorted from the premises by security after ending up in the toilets somewhat the

worse for wear.

But despite this setback, a good night was had by all and the Warwick Mountains 2008/9 executive committee was

duly elected:

President: David Fountain

Joint Vice-Presidents: Amy Underwood-Thompson and Glyn Hudson

Treasurer: Chris Davis

Social Secretary: Perry Bateman

Web and Secretary: Ben Falconer

Merchandise Officer: Rhian Littlewood

Gear Officer: Johnnie Lester

Safe hands for the coming year I’m sure you’ll all agree!

- James Ackroyd

Democracy in Action! - 29th Feb 2008

1..2..3..4..I declare thumb war!

Chaos

Everyone has their hidden talents!

Would you trust these people?

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The Day My Bag Fell Over The Edge

In returning to Warwick for a post grad year, while

attempting to avoid any questions about how old I

was (yeah that’s you Chris!), I finally saw the light,

coming across the idea of joining Warwick Moun-

tains. Even though the words didn’t seem to sit to-

gether, the midlands being flat in every direction, I

followed a good mate Cat and signed up.

On my first trip (10 November 2007) I quickly gained

a reputation and the nickname Clutz (thanks Matt!).

The Sunday dawned clear despite constant rain,

which did manage to hamper our best efforts to

scramble a stream out of a valley due to it’s recent

upgrade to heavy waterfall status. I designated myself photographer alongside Glyn and promptly dropped my camera

case down a hill into a river, which was a bad omen really, considering I was about to lose everything…

Further up we found more prominent rocks and worked our way up to a perch looking over where we’d fought to

climb. Upon securing and abandoning my bag, in pursuit of sunny pictures, I wandered off, trying to get some differ-

ent angles. (The picture here quite clearly shows the

bag in Glyn’s care) I’d taken a couple of photos, was

just lining up another one when a few people started

shouting at me for no apparent reason, bit harsh I

thought. Understanding what they were saying, I

turned round in time to watch my bag slowly tum-

bling down a slope towards the edge of the valley

that we’d just climbed out of. It was going slowly

enough to have hope that it might catch on a rock,

but as a whole group of about 20 of us watched in

silence as it sped up, a little bit of that hope faded!

My attempt at running after it was cut short by some

more responsible members of the club telling me to

stop, I’d definitely have caught it David!

Despite rolling at speed up to and over a cliff face, my bag

had landed within a half metre of the river we’d just scram-

bled up, rather than being submerged and carried down to

the valley and my mobile hadn’t noticed fortunately. A brief

rescue effort later, thanks to the WM A-Team, Glyn, Rich and

Mike (our old ex president making an appearance), who

made our strenuous route seem a flat stroll and I had my

bag back with my reputation firmly attached.

My bag

Cliff meets bag

Final resting spot

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Lessons learnt from being in Warwick Mountains:

1. Sign up at the ungodly hour of 8am is zombified and yet still as ravenous as if they were handing out free Mountain

Hardware kit

2. Re-waterproofing doesn’t always work.. just don’t wash them in the first place!! It will be regretted on the mountains

of Snowdon as the heavens open

3. You don’t have to be as fit as a mountain goat to finish the Yorkshire 3 Peaks (though it helps) but you would ex-

change your kidney for a head torch by the end

4. Mini-bus drivers and industrial cooks are legends

5. If you borrow equipment from a mate, check it is torn ‘beforehand’ so you don’t panic and don’t leave it in the mini-

bus either (ahem)

6. WM are an unassuming, relaxed crew. who seem to breathe organisation with no apparent effort!

- By Jenny Jones

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After a cold bivi night we got up at 2:45 in the morning, there is

nothing quite like the alpine start. Roughly two hours later, after

a slight detour on the glacier we were moving up the ‘vague ini-

tial snow couloir’ on the Table du Roc spur of the Aiguille du

Tour. As we neared its top we moved onto rock, or rather over

rock. It was covered in about a foot of hardly consolidated snow

from a storm just over a day ago. This necessitated using axes

and crampons- in places where the snow was thin there was

some neve like ice. It’s fair to say that we all knew better than to

be there in those conditions but two weeks of rain in the valley

had worn down our patience, and we stupidly decided we should

be able to tackle

a PD rock route

in poor conditions. The reality of this was scary, unnerving moves on

snow covered rock which should have been an easy scramble.

There were five of us, not exactly a recipe for fantastic speed. It

was decided that a rope of three moving together should be able to

keep up with a rope of two pitching more often (perhaps that

should be the other way around!), and I found myself in the middle

of the three. I can only describe it as horrific. On the rock sections

I would have to unclip a runner from in front of me and clip it back

on the rope behind me, sounds easy, except runners only end up

being placed mid crux…

Also we had just about enough gear suitable for a PD rock route (ie next to nothing). This was unfortunate since we

found ourselves grappling with occasional mixed moves of Scottish grade III with much sustained grade II in be-

tween. Hence both rope teams started clipping the same runners, which generally meant I had to add a duck under/

step over a rope move into my unclip/clip mid crux routine, hilarious.

We had a short break near a gendarme

on the ridge crest and talked time. To

ensure a safe descent of the easy snow

slopes from the summit we needed to be

on the summit now which was 10:00am,

only thing was we were barely half way

there. We hastily debated whether

there was time for Will to take a shit,

and decided there was if he got on with

it where we were without coming off the

rope, we did offer to look the other way,

but he said he could wait. We then

talked about retreating from there, but

as this would involve a multipitch abseil

down unknown ground we decided to

press on. The next section involved a

How not to climb a mountain

vague initial snow couloir’

The desperate chimney - sadly our high point on the route

The Cold Bivi

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traverse of an unstable snow slope- steep enough to dagger with

two axes. Being in the middle I had the entertainment of having

a loop of rope dangling by each crampon. It was impossible not

to snag a front point every step or two which was frustrating be-

cause it would be a pretty rubbish reason for the three of us to go

sliding down the mountain.

Soon we found ourselves a little below the table, the crux. While

debating which way to go Will shouted ‘quick put me on belay!’

before almost fainting and throwing up, probably altitude induced.

He tried climbing a desperate chimney above and failed; Jez tried

a slight variation on this, directly above my head. As I belayed

him he dislodged huge amounts of snow which went down my

neck, somewhat ‘chilling me out’. Knowing he had no gear in (Jez

doesn’t really do gear) I requested that he not fall off, if he did his

crampons were sure to puncture me. Ian and Mike arrived on the

already over crowded stance, and helpfully suggested we try a

traverse line which Will then led, to park us at the very foot of the

table. When we arrived at his stance he pronounced he was un-

able to climb onto the table (just what you hope to hear from the

team member who climbs 5 grades harder then the rest of us). As he was feeling somewhat under the weather, Jez

had a look. The table was covered in a thin layer of melting ice and Jez joked that he would prefer a top rope!

Meanwhile the rest of us had decided it was game over, and time to retreat. There was ab tat at the stance which

suggested we weren’t the first to do this. We decided to ab off into

table couloir (a PD route in its own right). Fortunately the 60m

ropes made the couloir in one go, and we regrouped, sheltering

from potential rock fall behind a boulder. A snow couloir at midday,

surrounded by loose rocks, the day after snowfall is not a good

place to be. We were all, to put it mildly, terrified. We decided on

one more abseil. Those waiting at the top had some shelter and

the abseil rope would provide some safety down the steeper snow,

once off the rope we would then sprint solo down climb get out of

the danger zone as fast as possible. Jez went last and I before

him, he asked me if I would wait for him at the bottom of the ropes

to help pull them through and carry them down. I abseiled down

as quickly and as smoothly as I could, then waited for Jez. Time

seemed to stand still, I scanned the walls around for sign of rock fall, I was right in the middle of the couloir at a nar-

rowing, and anything falling would be funnelled my way. Once Jez had joined me he tried pulling the ropes, they

wouldn’t budge. In the end only shear desperation got the ropes down, we both wrapped the rope around our arms

and jump down the slope a little way to get them moving. The remaining down climb was unpleasant, the snow

was very slushy and almost every snow step collapsed as our decent tended towards a ‘controlled’, facing inwards

slide. Soon we were on the glacier with the others, and after a further nervous hour spent crossing the glacier we

found ourselves back on terra ferma. 14 hours after we got up we were back at the campsite. Safe to climb another

day.

- David Fountain

The first abseil

Not all doom and gloom - A cow with a ridicu-lously loud bell round its neck

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A bright and fair dawn met the Chamonix Valley as Glyn, Trystan

and myself were preparing gear and most importantly food for our

day of climbing. The bread arrived at the campsite just in time for

us to have a hurried breakfast before setting off to tackle Aguille

de l’M, a mountain on the Mont Blanc massive situated adjacent to

the Mer de Glace. At this point spirits were high as we set about

trying to hitch-hike a lift from the campsite to the cable car lift.

After arriving at the lift station and parting with a small fortune for

a ticket, we stepped into the claustrophobic cable car and left the

ground. The day had now really begun! We all felt that same tin-

gly buzz caused by a combination of excitement, lack of oxygen

due to a sudden gain in altitude and the slight superior feeling as

the tourists pointed in awe at our helmets, ropes and pointy metal

ice axes! We stepped from the lift at Midi Plan station to be met

with brilliant Alpine sunshine and a view into the valley below that

took your breath away.

It is always said about Alpine climbing that the toughest challenge is the route finding! We were convinced of this or

most immediately as the “well trodden path” described by the guidebook proved difficult to find. However, we were on

our way eventually, having come across a wiry mountain guide leading a Kiwi holiday maker to the very same moun-

tain we had our eye on. After walking for a proximately an hour over mixed terrain, we met the boulder fields. This is

when luck took a cheap shot, nearly resulting in my death. A large spur of boulders and rocks stood between us and

the rest of our route, jutting away from the mountain towards the valley below. There was no question about it, it had

to be crossed, so we began heading up the vast heap of debris. It was at this point that the mountain guide, a little

ahead of us, took a turn to the left to cross further down the heap. We in our infinite wisdom however, decided to

climb the steepest section because it looked easier and quicker.

I was at the back at this point, following Trystan and Glyn’s path up the side of the moraine. I looked up and saw

them disappear over the crest as I scrambled after them. It was a few moments later when I heard, felt and saw the

entire slope move above me. Whether Glyn and Trystan’s footsteps had disturbed the rock or whether it was just plain

bad luck didn't seem to matter at that point. What can only be described as a lorry load full of rocks the size of car

wheels, decided they liked it better at the bottom of the slope. I have never before or since, moved so fast in all my

life…… adrenaline took over as I leapt across the slope to try and get to safety while rocks fell all around me. Sure, I

had a helmet on but rocks at that big, moving that fast would have been the end of me, had it came down to man ver-

sus rock. Amazingly, I still don't know how, I escaped with minor cuts and bruises on my arms and legs which I no-

ticed as I climbed up to join Glyn and Trystan.

I had to shouted “safe” as soon as the rumble of the rock fall had ceased so they knew I was at least alive. As I re-

counted what had happened and heard how they had only seen a cloud of dust go up and heard the crashing of the

rocks, I suddenly found that my legs had gone completely to jelly and I was having the biggest adrenaline rush of my

life! In my experience I found that all the hear-say about your life flashing before your eyes and thinking of your family

in an imminent death situation like that, was pure rumour. The only thing going through my head was how to stay

alive and get the hell out of the way! It was 5 to 10 minutes after the incident that it really hit me… then all I could

think of was “oh my God, that was nearly it…. game over at age 19…”

Aguille Du L’M – The Mini Epic

Three brave adventurers….

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But, we still had a route to climb! So we set off again to the start of the climb

which we had checked out a day previously. It was a short solo of easy rock

to the first belay stance where we anchored in and Glyn began to lead the first

pitch. The route was a little confusing but not too challenging at this point so

we were enjoying the climb.

It was Trystan's turn to lead a pitch and as he would be out of sight, we made

use of the two way radios. After a short while, Glyn and I heard a crack as

what appeared to be a good-sized rock came hurtling towards us. We ducked

as it went past and waited for Trystan to finish. It was at that point that

Trystan peered over the top and said rather sheepishly “er yeah,,,, that was

the radio…”. I responded by cringing while thinking about my £90 radio at the

bottom of the rock face. We looked down and Glyn exclaimed “I think I can

see it!” and suggested abseiling off to get it. After all… the box had said they

were shock proof… A short while later however, the radio was found strewn

across the base of the climb and it would appear that a 100ft fall didn’t quite

constitute a ‘shock’… Glyn then climbed back up, taking a little longer than we

all hoped as the day was getting on.

We reached the pitch described

in the guide to have a “superbly

polished chimney” which I

thought was an understatement! Glyn had led this pitch clipping untrust-

worthy pitons then sat grinning at the top as I made my attempt. “Jesus”

I said, the footholds were slippery as hell and the handholds non-

existent. But to my great surprise I made it up clean with that huge

sense of satisfaction gained only by an achievement like that.

A short while later we reached the crux pitch as Glyn took over the lead

again. I was on belay and watched carefully as I heard that mix between

a grunt and a yelp which I recognised as the sound usually made on the

climbing wall, just before someone yells “TAKE!!!”. And sure enough, I

felt Glyn’s weight on the rope. “Hmmm” he said, “I think I’ll ditch the

rucksack”, a statement which I responded to with “ahh crap…here we

go”. With a lot of puffing and some cheeky alpine style aiding, we even-

tually made it to the summit, elated at our accomplishment but all thinking

the same thing… it was getting late. The ‘letterbox’ described in the guide,

leading to the decent route proved impossible to find meaning that we spent

far too long on the summit trying to work out the way down, knowing that a

mistake at this point could prove disastrous. We finally decided to go into

‘emergency bail out’ mode and abseil into the snowy couloir to the side of the

climb and descend that way.

Again, karma decided to kick us in the arse during our descent, meaning that

after the first abseil, when we went to pull the rope down, we saw it disap-

pear into a crack in the rock face above and the rope suddenly go tight. It

Polished chimney!? My arse… morelike greased…

You call that a foothold!?!? That’s noteven a smear….

Over the hard bit!

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was stuck. The next sound I heard was a groan from Glyn that was full of more despair and panic than I had ever

heard in his voice before. We all knew that at this late in the day, we could be in serious trouble, stuck on a small

ledge, halfway down the mountain, with no rope. We all anchored into the rock and shook, wiggled and flicked the

rope in an attempt to free it with no luck. In a last ditch effort, all three of us held onto the rope and threw our weight

onto it… the rope suddenly came snaking down to us as we all breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that we would not

have to spend the night there.

When we reached the couloir however, we discovered that the snow, which the sun had been shining on all day, was

incredibly unstable and slippery making the descent haz-

ardous. We therefore decided to rope up and lower down

to prevent one of us from sliding into the rocks below at

fatal speeds. After discovering more pieces of my radio on

the way down, we finally hit solid ground and felt a huge

weight lift off us at the same time as euphoria setting in

having completed the climb. Grinning like idiots we started

the walk back down having missed the last cable car by a

long shot. By the time we made it back to Chamonix, it

was about 10pm and we were starving, “pizza anyone?”

suggested Trystan as me and Glyn roared “YEAH!!” in an-

swer. An extortionate taxi ride later, we arrived back at the

campsite to find fellow Warwick Mountains members and relay the events of the day!

Written by Perry Bateman

Featuring Glyn Hudson, Trystan Lea and Perry Bateman

Roping up for the descent of the couloir

Down safely cheering in triumph! Man versus mountain… this time, man only just won…

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Words or phrases that may or may not require a definition:

Ab tat – what my dad still calls ‘old abseil slings’

Abseil – A German term - Sliding down a rope to decent, ideally in a controlled manner!

Alpine start – The act of getting up at a ridiculous time to avoid the dangers of melting snow and ice induced

rock fall once the sun hits the rocks.

Belay Device – A metal plate which provides friction on the rope (you hope!)

Bivi Bag – A bit better than a survival bag i.e. you can close the top with a draw string to stop drafts and spindrift

getting in.

Chimney – Usually meaning one hell of a struggle A crack large enough to climb inside.

Corrie – A Scottish word - semicircular basin in a mountain; refer to your geography teacher for a lengthy expla-

nation!

Couloir – sort of shoot, usually snowy - from the French word meaning ‘corridor’-‘vague initial snow couloir’ – quote from the guide book

Gendarme – A French policeman – also (more importantly?) a large rock pinnacle on a ridge

Leader - The first climber up a pitch, placing protection in the rock along the way while being belayed by a part-

ner from below – Also the leader is the person to blame for poor route choice and just about anything else you wish!

McDonalds- A food establishment often the feeding ground of Chavs, sometimes if your lucky in Vauxhall Novas.

Mixed (or mixed ground) – A nightmare for some – climbing terrain consisting of a mixture of rock, snow and

ice often at the same time.

Mulitpitch Ab – More than one full rope length abseil.

Neve – snow which has undergone nivation i.e. older snow which has become firm and granular. Too hard for

snowballs!

PD (Peu difficile) – an alpine grade for routes which are harder then ‘easy’ (F- Facile) but easier than ‘fairly

hard’ (AD - Assez difficile)

Spindrift – Fine blown snow; like a cold cloud of sugar or flour

Stance / belay stance – The ledge (or lack off) where the leader stands to belay the second.

Survival bag – An orange plastic body bag no sane person would choose to spend a

night in.

Team Amy – A killer combo of culinary genius

Top Gun – An epic of cinematography

Top rope – A rope coming from above which can be traditionally found in climbingwalls and climbing club trips, not on an alpine route….unless it’s dangling from ahelicopter!

Editors glossary

Team Amy in action

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Pub Golf group photo

2 contentsevery trip has been over subscribed and i can safely say that never before has the club...

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