Der Riesenwand Direct Finish

Murdoch Jamieson pulling through the crux bulge of the Direct Finish (VII,7) to Der Riesenwand. “It was possibly steeper and more difficult than the picture shows, especially establishing oneself onto the ice,” Nick Bullock commented afterwards. (Photo Nick Bullock)

Murdoch Jamieson and Nick Bullock climbed a direct finish to Der Riesenwand (VII,6) on February 25. Just before the ‘memorable swing around a bulge’ on the upper left-trending ledge, they were attracted to steep ice on the right, so Murdoch made some mixed moves right to gain the hanging ice. “We were not following the natural line, but it was nice, exciting and very airy climbing,” Murdoch explained afterwards. After this pitch there were two more of about Grade III/IV to the top.

There was some discussion as to whether this finish had been climbed before, but the consensus is that it was probably unclimbed.

“I can see how this could have been done in whatever condition or with a bigger icicle and how it would be more straightforward then, but still worth a guidebook mention maybe as the overall grade does increase with this finish,” Nick concluded.

So for those looking for a bit more adventure on an ascent of the Northern Highlands ultra-classic of Der Riesenwand, then the three-pitch Direct Finish (VII,7) could be just the ticket!

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Attaboy

Andy Nisbet on the first ascent of Attaboy (V,6) on Beinn Fhada in Kintail. This excellent- sounding route ‘was rather good, as intimidating but ultimately helpful lines are’. (Photo Dave McGimpsey)

“Beinn Fhada is almost on the west coast behind the Five Sisters of Kintail,” Andy Nisbt writes. “It’s sheltered from most snowy wind directions so is often my choice if there’s too much snow elsewhere. No doubt it rains a lot on a westerly but I hope not to be there. It has two climbing corries, and not surprisingly, the further away one, Coire an Sgairne, doesn’t seem to get many climbing visitors. Except me and friends, of course.

Recent conditions of cold easterlies and lots of snow have attracted me there. The lower section of the corrie doesn’t freeze very often but that isn’t a problem this year. Because it lies on the side of the ridge between the two corries, there isn’t enough drainage for regular ice but the schist holds plenty of turf. Ice is OK, but it’s always a gamble whether unclimbed ice lines are complete, whereas turf is guaranteed if it’s cold enough.

So on February 26, Dave McGimpsey and I headed there to try a new line I’d spotted on my crag shots. It was a prominent deep groove in the highest section of the cliff, and while I was pessimistic about climbing it direct, it looked like you might be able to bypass its steep crux on the left. In great conditions of hard snow, Dave and I soloed up to below the groove. Dave fancied giving it a go but the ice was thin and my pessimistic self could see a crucial section, which might break off and require a very awkward retreat. The left side also seemed steeper and smoother than appeared in the photo, so a line up to the right seemed the only option.

Once out there, a small steep groove above seemed to hold enough turf. The moment I set off, the mood changed to optimism. The turf was good and cracks appeared at regular intervals. Schist is all or nothing in this respect, and this groove had it all. After passing the difficulties, the main groove was easily regained and followed to the top. It was easier than expected at IV,5 and at least provisionally it’s called Zeitgeist, only because it sounds a good name but without having any relevance to the route.

While we were looking in all directions for a way to avoid the steep groove, I couldn’t help noticing a potential line low down on the left, climbable but way too far left for us that day. So when I got home, I looked at my crag shots to see where it went. It led into steep ground but with two parallel grooves and a crest between them. The crest had snow patches so wasn’t just a smooth arête, plus the arêtes here have more features than the grooves.

So Dave and I headed back on March 7 after heavy snow the afternoon before, and again the hope that it had snowed less near the coast. I think this was true but it didn’t seem so when even the approach path was deep, although fortunately there were walkers ahead of us. As we gained the corrie, the snow depth seemed to lessen, probably blown into the valley, but the crag was pure white and the line intimidating. Dave spotted a different groove filled with thick ice and headed up to investigate. Dave likes ice but I hadn’t taken any ice screws and it looked a bit steep. The odd thing is that it really focussed me on giving the other line a go.

So we soloed up the easy start, and then a not so easy break out left until we both agreed not to do any more soloing. I was contemplating a low line out left but Dave had spotted a higher line. He said it looked fine, so a decision was made. We spent a while looking for a belay, finally settling for a peg driven into turf, but it took so much hammering that we decided it must have gone into rock. The fine looking line didn’t look easy fine to me, but a score in the rock 10m up turned out to be a perfect crack which I duly laced up in case there wasn’t much more (there wasn’t). The trouble with small ramps is that you only get your axes or your feet on them, so they aren’t in balance like you’d hoped. After trying the foot option and finding nothing for the axes, I went for the axes option and swung my feet on to steep ground below. But the axe placements seemed good, so a couple of moves left me with a fierce pull back on to the ramp. I hammered in my axe just to make sure it couldn’t come out, ignoring as usual that it might get stuck, and pulled up on to a ledge (it did come out, just). A grovel over a chockstone gained a bigger ledge and easier ground. We were climbing on a skinny 60m rope doubled, so pitches were short.

The potential grooves seemed to end in unpleasant bulges so Dave carried on to the crest. I asked him if it looked OK but he was non-committal, however the speed he climbed suggested that it was. I did shout up that the photo suggested a steep bit higher up but probably on my pitch and he answered that he was at it. A helpful flake-crack didn’t take him very long, but a couple of rocks came down as he warned me that it was loose. It didn’t seem too bad as a second but it doesn’t with a rope above you.

Next pitch was mine, and looked steep. I tried looking left and right but straight up didn’t look any worse and was clearly the purest line. There was a 10ft flake perched on the crest, not looking attached to anything, but I decided that if it stayed there in the summer, then it should be solid enough when frozen. While I was contemplating, Dave actually moved his belay so he wasn’t underneath it, but didn’t tell me till afterwards. With a sling runner on a rounded flake, I reached round and found what appeared to be a good placement. After a ‘should I or shouldn’t I’ moment, I came back down and put in a couple more runners. This time it was a definite should and the steep moves were over quickly (as steep moves need to be). Then it quickly got easier.

We turned the rope into a single and Dave ran out a 60m pitch to the top. The wind was getting up but the top was nearly calm and the views into the other corrie were fantastic. Last time we descended into it as Dave wanted to solo Left-Hand Gully, which I admit looked great but I didn’t have the energy. For once it was in its Grade II nick and he loved it. I used to be graded II/III, but I’d never seen it in Grade II nick so it went into Northern Highlands South as a III. But this time we descended the ridge and back into our corrie to rejoin our approach steps, an easier choice.

The steep ice groove is still unclimbed, but escapable after the groove and again higher up, so I think we chose the better line. Actually it was rather good, as intimidating but ultimately helpful lines are. We called it Attaboy (V,6), as Fhada is pronounced Atta.”

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Easan Feidh Climbed At Last!

The cold weather brought the frozen waterfall of Easan Feidh in the Far North-West into rare climbable condition. Steve Perry and Sophie Grace Chappell battled through a long approach in deep snow and endured spray from the unfrozen central part of the fall to make the coveted first ascent last Monday. (Photo Steve Perry)

Steve Perry and Sophie Grace Chappell showed remarkable vision, determination and persistence when they made the first ascent of Easan Feidh (VI,6) on March 5. This spectacular 90m-high waterfall, which lies on Creag na h-lolaire to the south of Ben Klibreck, had been eyed up by connoisseurs of the area as an excellent winter objective for a number of years.

“Mike Geldard, who used to run The Crask Inn, is a good friend of mine and first showed it me on the map a few years ago, so it’s been on my radar for quite some time,” Steve told me. “Mike has seen it formed various times over the years as his sheep graze in that area and he can get all the way there on his quad (7km from Crask). After seeing lots of low level ice posted on Facebook I called him and he said it will be there because the burn is frozen at The Crask. Now Mike is one of the most reserved people I know, so when his parting words were ‘come up, it’s spectacular!’ we changed our plans.”

Sophie Grace recounts the story of their ascent: “You come over the bealach from Crask on the old stalker’s path. You count Mike and Kai’s sheep for them as you go. (Their herd is 67 animals, we counted 78.) You wish it was colder and it was snowing properly not sleeting and you had ice underfoot not that sloppy white custard that recently-melted ice makes. Yet Mike did say “If the burn at Crask is frozen then it’s in.” And the reason we’re here now is because Mike told Steve on the phone that the burn at Crask is frozen. Local knowledge – it’s better than any forecast…

As you trudge you start looking at the gullies across the glen on your right. Where is it? Where is our Cunning Plan? Heck, I hope it’s not meant to be there, or there, because that looks rubbish and that’s not in at all… you go on a little further down the hill towards Loch a’Choire and round a bit of a corner and… OMG.

There’s a slightly gnarly gulch across the glen, with a good potential sport-climbing-venue crag overhanging it on the left and all sorts of steep tussocky nonsense on the right, and above the gulch it breaks out into a big and spectacular amphitheatre with an overhanging rock-nose on the left, and above the amphitheatre on the right… Oh. My. Sweet. Lord. A double-band waterfall straight up a rock-face, 20m wide at the bottom and 80m high before the angle eases, well frozen to right and left but running down the middle, all chandeliers and pillars and stalactites, yellow and horned and crested, and massive. Simply massive. Massive and, even from a kilometre away, quite obviously really really steep: 80 degrees then 90 degrees then 60 degrees. People have been climbing in Scotland for 150 years, for heaven’s sake. 150 years, and no one’s done this before?

And you think, “So we thought from the gradients shown on the map, which worked out at one in one i.e. 45 degrees, that this might be a bit like Steall only easier. Might be a romp-up grade III playground. Nothing of the kind. This is a stunning, stunning route. But it’s also clearly a bit of a mission. More like Bridalveil than Steall. And with all this thawing going on, is it even sound?”

And you listen to your partner going “My God, that looks amazing. We’ve got to. We’ve simply got to. After that walk-in? When this is hardly ever there? There’s no frigging way we’re just taking the gear for a walk today.”

And you think, “Oh, here we go. Here comes another epic.”

So you cross the glen and scramble up the gulch in the deer-tracks, scattering the hinds out of their sheltered cove, trying to keep your boots out of the six-foot-deep break-throughs into the burn, and you gear up in the amphitheatre at the foot of the route. There’s so much spray it’s like getting dressed in a cold shower. And part of you hopes that a car-sized lump will come down before you start (missing you) and act as an official declaration that the route’s not in. Or that Steve’s test screw will go straight in and straight out again like the ice wall is a giant slush puppy. But no. Under the top inch or so it’s really good ice.

So no excuses left. Up he goes and I’m standing there in the spray, listening to the thud and crunch of chunks of ice falling off the waterfall, watching the ice-spicules piling up like hourglass sand as the water-course hollows out the ice on either side of it, watching the ropes siphoning water off the ice like a running tap, trying not to move so I don’t get that clammy-clothes feeling all down my legs and back, trying to belay him from somewhere slightly less wet than anywhere else (there’s no such place).

The good news is it’s snowing properly now, not sleeting. So it’s getting colder: excellent, though there’s surely no chance it will stop the spray. I watch the little snow-sluffs coming off the heathery slope on the other side of the amphitheatre. I search my memory, wondering if, from the stalker’s path, I saw a big avalanche-apron at the top of our route. Don’t think so. Certainly hope not. Bugger all we can do about it now if there is. (But no, there isn’t.)

He has a long pause after about 8m (afterwards he tells me he was seriously thinking about backing off). But up he goes, up steps and grooves, steep but manageable, to a good ledge on the right after 30m, gets safe, lies down and has a good swear at his hot aches.

And now it’s me. I wring out my gloves (“100% waterproof” it says on them—ho ho ho), clip my tools into my spinner-leash, check my crampons and my harness, tighten my boot-laces, then pretty much race up it because I’m so desperate to get out of the wet and warm myself up again. Whack punch whack punch. I start with my heart in my mouth but in fact the ice is brilliant. 80 degrees is so much easier than 90, you can use your feet so much more, provided you can see them through the mist on your glasses. And at the ledge I get the hot aches too. I wail and swear and howl, and tie myself in, take my gloves off and on, and clap and flex my hands to make the pain worse but briefer, while Steve puts my glasses away for me and flakes the ropes. He’s got two pegs in the rock and I think “Grand, now I know we can ab off if the second pitch is a horror-show.” (Good job we didn’t—when I clean the belay the bottom peg comes out with just six hammer blows, and when I hit the top peg, the rock around it disintegrates into flakes of choss first blow. So the bottom peg is very dubious, and the top peg wouldn’t have held a sneeze.)

Pitch 2. Steve goes left round an ice-pillar. First move he puts a screw in the pillar to back up the belay (just as well: see above) then he’s in a vertical sentry-box in the ice. He gets two parallel screws in and has a think. Then he just goes for it, straight upwards as quick as he can before his feet come off. He tells me afterwards he climbed it pretty much arms-only. He slithers when he gets on it but he controls it. Then I have a very good view of his anti-ball plates for about half an hour: he’s straight above me and moving very carefully indeed. It’s seriously steep, it’s like it overhangs the belay, and he’s got a screw in at the top of the sentry-box (hurray) and he’s chopping away a huge ice-umbrella so he can move up and left. Then he disappears over the brow—to my delight, because it means he’s on less steep ground. Another twenty minutes and he whoops, which is better still. Can’t hear what he’s saying but the tone is jubilant. I whoop back.

Then up I go and oh my goodness it’s steep. Where Steve slithered, I pop off, and swear my head off. I thought I was going to do this clean but the vertical sentry-box is beyond me. My crampons aren’t sharp enough, the ice here is too flaky and cruddy, and I’m trying to do it too fast. Snakes alive, Steve, this is completely nails, how on earth did you get up this? I flail a bit. I stop and give myself a sweary talking to. Calm the F down. Take your effing time. Use your effing feet properly and get them kicked in better underneath the cruddy top layer. Go A-shape. And stop effing over-gripping.

Once I’m above the sentry-box it’s okay. One way or another I get to the belay (which is excellent this time—a nut and a slinged boulder that would hold the Queen Mary). I carry on up the heather to the top and start coiling the ropes.

And now I’m on the plateau, and it’s there. We’ve done it. It’s in the bag. High fives and back over the sleety moor in the dusk for tea and medals with Kai and Mike, where I hog Kai’s scones and the wood-burning stove, and try and get all of their collies on my lap simultaneously, to warm me up.

Overnight in Steve’s spare room near Inverness, there’s a glow and a buzz: that after-route feeling, so hard to beat. It’s hard to sleep, but we both dream of the route. And the next morning I look at Steve’s route photo and I think: Oh my sainted aunt. We climbed that. We—climbed—that. Route of the season!”

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Damh Goulotte

Dave McGimpsey climbing the crux of Damh Goulotte on Beinn Damh on Torridon. “It was steeper, harder and better than we expected – V,6 but not easy at that.” (Photo Andy Nisbet)

“Beinn Damh remains an accessible venue for the old climber with a gammy knee,” Andy Nisbet writes. “And it has the added bonus that it’s escaped snowmageddon, leaving only ice and neve.

The good conditions have tempted Dave McGimpsey out of his sabbatical, so we went on March 2 to try the right branch of an older route, Fawn Gully. It would be the better line for Fawn Gully, but looked too hard to solo when that route was first done. There was loads of ice in December, so we were spoilt for choice, but we had gone with mixed equipment and chose a buttress line. So a fair bet that there would be plenty of ice with the ground frozen to sea level.

And so it proved. With the extra ice, we climbed Fawn Gully more direct to reach the branch, which leaves the main gully just below the end of its difficulties. The branch is steeper than the main gully but the ice turned out to be more continuous rather than actually steeper, so the rope and rack stayed in the rucksacks over several small ice pitches to finish up a neve field. Grade III seemed fair for several ice pitches even if none were long.

On the approach to Fawn Gully, my eyes and camera were attracted to a narrow gully which was the original aim of Sandy Allan and I on November 30 (see the post of 17 Jan), except there was no ice in November. The photos inspired Dave to agree to a visit two days later (March 4), supposedly a guaranteed route after a failure the day before.

It was a good-looking line of continuous ice over several steps, and our eyes ignored a couple of icicle sections, which should have suggested it was steeper than we thought. Beinn Damh gullies often don’t have much rock gear so we had taken plenty of ice screws, although with consecutive ice screw belays, barely enough. Always trying to reduce weight, we used a skinny 60m rope doubled, so 30m pitches.

Dave led the first pitch, supposedly easier but it wasn’t that easy, to a convenient patch of horizontal ice just as the rope ran out. The next pitch was clearly the crux and looked quite fierce to me, although Dave took the second’s role of great optimism. I had been hoping you could chimney it, but clearly you couldn’t.

I didn’t get very far, failed to get a decent runner because the ice was too thin, or a peg because I hadn’t taken any angles, and came down to offer the lead to Dave. I wasn’t sure he’d accept, since he hasn’t climbed anything this hard for several years, but he decided to give it a go. Winter climbers need to be positive so I should have realised that ‘give it a go’ was a very definite statement.

Getting to my high point was easy, because it wasn’t very high, and then he set about getting a better runner. I had scraped a corner and found nothing, but a more determined Dave realised that an axe pick might find nothing while a knifeblade could still go in. Which it did, and a good placement above it allowed a longer reach up the ice to something a bit thicker. Enforced use of the knees allowed him to pull into a little niche (I assumed when watching that a second could climb it more elegantly, but I did it exactly the same way). Another move gained a good rest below a half formed umbrella.

Passing this looked hard from below but the gully decided to accept Dave as a friend and allowed him to bridge much more amenably into an easier upper gully. Now the gully opened out into a snowy bay and only a short chimney pitch to escape on to the upper slopes. So we succeeded on the Damh Goulotte (V,6) and hope we don’t get a thaw any time soon.”

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Outpost Route

Dividing Buttress on Beinn a’Bhuird separates Coire an Dubh Lochain from Coire nan Clach on the mountain’s extensive east face. The cliff is rarely visited in winter and only one or two of the routes have received repeats. (Topo Simon Yearsley)

“Winter and one of the high corries of Beinn a’Bhuird is a combination which promises solitude,” Simon Yearsley writes. “And away from the Cold Climbs lure of Mitre Ridge, it practically guarantees it. The secret to climbing in these magnificent corries isn’t knowing whether the ice is formed, the buttresses white, or the wind is in a friendly direction, it is all about the travel. It’s a long way: a 30km round trip to Coire nan Clach, and further to Garbh Choire. Mountain bikes ease the journey, but the lower glen tracks need to be snow-free for this to add any value. Above the Fairy Glen, the walking is long, and the ideal conditions of wind-scoured hard-packed snow are surprisingly uncommon. Big boulder fields protect the approaches to nearly all the cliffs, so a good covering is needed, but again, if it’s not hard-packed, the going can be torturous.

Just before “The Beast From The East” bared its teeth, Malcolm Bass and I knew the conditions in the west and north-west were looking promising, but so was the travel into Beinn a’Bhuird. A choice between probable company or the solitude of Beinn a’Bhuird. On February 26 we chose the latter. It was a good choice. Bikes carried us to just below Slugain Howff, then perfect walking along the Quoich Water, before heading left to Coire nan Clach. We knew it was going to be cold, but were surprised by how cold our kitting up spot was – very cold air temperature and the first icy breath of The Beast giving formidable wind-chill. We climbed the whole route in our belay jackets, searching for sheltered belay stances. Only later in the day did the wind relax.

Descending perfect neve on the return to our sacks at the end of the route gave views into the majestic Coire an Dubh Lochain. How long ago did the glacier disappear from here? Was it last week, or the week before? Darkness fell, but serene moonlight lit the way back to the campervan. Tea, vodka and smiles. A long day, but a wonderful, fun, atmospheric day with just the two of us.

Oh, and the climbing: we’d gone in planning something bigger, but ended up with a pleasant addition to Dividing Buttress – Outpost Route at IV,6 gave a fun, non-serious line between Dividend Route and Sentinel Buttress.

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Scorrie Explorations

Angus Glens pioneer Forrest Templeton atop The Scorrie with the lower reaches of Glen Clova stretching behind. (Photo Simon Richardson)

On February 11, Forrest Templeton and I visited Glen Clova. In recent seasons Forrest has been exploring The Scorrie, the pronounced buttress flanking the right side of Winter Corrie, so I thought it was a good opportunity to familiarise myself with the whereabouts of recent routes. In 2015 he climbed a series of grooves up the front crest called Ramp it Up Ye (IV,4) with Brian Duthie, and I was intrigued whether the prominent corner on the right side of the crest was unclimbed. Forrest said their route was well to the left, so we enjoyed a varied five-pitch expedition up the right side of the buttress. Corner Ahoy! (V,6) started with a subterranean chimney and finished up the corner, which (inevitably) proved more awkward than it looked.

Forrest and Brian also added a route to the crag up and right of The Scorrie buttress in 2016, which they called The Scorrie Romp (II/III), and this prompted Forrest to return on February 25.

“I soloed the first short wee gully chimney as you descend into the upper buttress of the Scorrie from the right,” Forrest told me, “but took cold feet due to poor placements and traversed right onto frozen turf just below the top. Before this I started up The Scorrie Romp, but instead of going up the continuation gully, I followed the horizontal ledge and where the steep upper wall ended just before the crest I climbed a chimney gully which petered into a shallow gully and came out just above the tree belay on the Scorrie Romp. It followed the same line to the top finishing at the cairn on the corrie rim. It was about the same grade (II/III), and I named it One Man Gastric Band as the ledge that skirts the upper sector of The Scorrie reminds me of a gastric band around it’s big belly. If the wee short gully (25m) is worth naming, I propose Short Hearse (III) because this is where I thought I may end up at one point!”

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Beast From The East

Looking down the long gully of Beast From The East (II) on Am Bathach in Glen Shiel with perfect neve all the way to the valley. Mullach Fraoch-choire in the background. (Photo Andy Nisbet)

There’s a Beast from the East forecast. Hypothermia, death and destruction are imminent. So why am I climbing in blazing sunshine wearing only a vest, not a cloud in the sky, not a breath of wind, neve from the valley bottom (Cluanie to Affric valley) to the summit of Am Bathach? And still sweating. Who knows how many hundreds of feet of unclimbed gully, normally with a partly formed ice pitch but today banked out to steep snow and scraping into Grade II.

Some days in Scotland are just wonderful. What to call the gully – Beast From The East of course. But the only beast from the east was me, being an east coaster!

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Sweet Spot

Andy Nisbet leading the first pitch of Sweet Spot (V,5) in Coire na Caime on Liathach, rather wishing he had taken an ice screw. (Photo Dave McGimpsey)

Dave McGimpsey climbs hills nowadays. Humps, tumps, lumps and bumps all turn him on. Not that I can comment, having bagged Munros since I was 12. But the best climbing conditions since 2010 were enough to tempt him out.

Conditions may be great, and produced by a big but crucially one-day thaw, although only crags with enough snow initially are in such good nick. In general, the further east or north you went, the less snow there was, and so now the less neve and ice there is. And of course, the higher the better, although I suspect the highest snows may only be crusty.

So Coire na Caime on Liathach, highest of its corries, seemed a good bet, with the doubt being whether there was enough snow before the thaw. Pictures on the SAIS blog showed the ice having diminished in Coire Dubh Mor, and diminished a lot in the lower Coire Dubh Beag, but Coire na Caime is higher and more secluded, rarely visited and rarely photographed. But with a new line!

Friday February 23 was forecast to be a good day in the North-West, albeit a bit windy from the south, but Coire na Caime is north facing and should be sheltered. The approach up the south side of Liathach was gruelling as ever, but we started early enough to avoid the sun softening the snow. On reaching the ridge, we popped down into the descent gully to escape the biting wind.

We were heading for a ridge that bounds Vanadium Couloir on the left and with a prominent line of grooves up its centre. Now the guidebook describes a route called Valentine Buttress with a very similar description and possibly the reason why the route hadn’t been tried before. But Valentine Buttress is actually a deep gully further left, so an odd name but one which had done us a big favour (the guidebook topo is correct). After a long descent and traverse under Bell’s Buttress, we could finally see that our route was in nick. There wasn’t much in reserve, because the lower Am Fasarinen had much less ice, but here the grooves were filled with admittedly thin ice.

So we started up ice on the right, close to the original and unrepeated start to Vanadium Couloir, and followed a groove line. An ice screw runner would have been nice, but we hadn’t expected thick ice and had left them in the car. So with some finger crossing leading to perfect ice, the worry was over quickly and rock runners below chockstones helped a pull over into groove which led left into the main groove-line. We could have tried the direct start but it looked a bit hard. Actually it was a bit bare too but I admit that wasn’t the prime reason.

The ice in the grooves was thin but often on top of blobs of turf, an ideal combination. Although the turf was concrete hard, and no way could we place our warthog, the ice on top of it worked a treat. There were just enough cracks in the walls either side that the climbing wasn’t too stressful, despite the ice being a bit scratchy in places. To make up for missing the direct start, the top tier held a groove, which looked too steep and rocky in my photos, but held just enough ice for us to follow it.

So the route turned out to be a bit of a cracker, and 250m long, although probably losing a star for being escapable into Valentine Buttress below the top tier. A name of Sweet Spot seemed to fit the conditions and we decided on a grade of V,5, although it could be harder in the future. And we were up in reasonable time to admire fantastic views all round on a great winter day.

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Moonstone Repeated

Pete Davies and Ross Cowie approaching the rarely visited Coire nan Camh on Meall Garbh in the Central Highlands. Moonstone (VII,7) takes a direct line up the central and highest part of the cliff. (Photo Steve Elliott)

Pete Davies, Steve Elliott and Ross Cowie made the probable second ascent of Moonstone (VII,7) on Coire nan Camh on February 4. This remote cliff is located 10km south of Loch Laggan on the east face of Meall Garbh, the southerly top of Chno Dearg. Moonstone was first climbed by Chris Cartwright and myself in December 1999 and I’ve not heard of any other repeats.

“It was probably the nicest day of weather I’ve climbed in for a few years,” Pete told me. “Sun, blue skies and not a breath of wind. The snow and ice on the cliff was falling apart in the sunshine for the first couple of hours but rapidly refroze once it went into the shade. I thought the route had a nice mix of climbing styles. Well-protected snowed up rock on the groove pitch up the side of the Diamond then more run out, icy mixed on the pitches through the headwall. Recommended to anyone keen to escape the crowds and hopefully have the corrie to themselves as we did.”

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Dingle First Winter Ascent

Calum Hicks at the top of the corner of Dingle (VII,8) on Buachaille Etive Mor during the first winter ascent. The route was repeated ten days later. (Photo Tim Miller)

Tim Miller is having an excellent winter. He has succeeded on a number of demanding test pieces such as The Secret, and in December he climbed a difficult new route on The Cobbler with Martin McKenna. On February 2, Tim added another notable route to his season’s haul with the first winter ascent of Dingle (a summer HVS) on Buachaille Etive Mor together with Calum Hicks.

“I’d heard that there were a few routes to the right of Engineers Crack that hadn’t been done in winter,” Tim explained. “Speaking to Neil Adams I found out that he had done Fracture Route, so Dingle seemed like the obvious choice. There’s an easy approach pitch, which Calum led, then I climbed the main corner at VII’8. It turned out to be much better than expected. Bomber hooks and tons of gear, the only catch being the very thin feet. There is good tat at the top to abseil down from, so combined with a short walk in, it makes an ideal bad weather day or consolation route. As for the grade, I was between VI,7 and VII,8 so originally settled on easy VII hard 7. Furthermore my friend Tim Oliver repeated it on February 12 and thought it to be about mid VII easy 8 and good fun climbing. So VII,8 suits it better anyway I think.”

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