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Glover's Chimney

"Let's climb Glover's Chimney," suggested Alan.

We'd been mucking about on some Grade II and III ice falls at the base of Coire na Ciste all morning. After all, Alan had never been ice climbing before. In fact this was his first winter trip to Scotland. We had been spoiled of late by the Mediterranean like Dorset coast, namely Swanage and thereabouts. When we didn't have the time for this 300 mile round trip from London, we would hone our technique on the delights of Harrisons and Bowles Rocks. Poor show you might say for a couple of climbers from the Peak and Scotland. But it did us fine on summer evenings.

"Yes, I reckon you could handle a grade III to start. It's a good route..."

"Glovers Chimney", I said, surprised at Alan's suggestion. "Yes, I reckon you could handle a grade III to start. It's a good route..." I looked at my watch. It was 1pm. I continued, "...but we'd better get moving as we've got Tower Gap to contend with when we've finished it". "Oh", said Alan. Alan knew all about Tower Gap from the BBC video "The Edge", the classic account of WH Murray's winter ascent of Tower Ridge in 1939.

We sorted the gear out, re-packed our sacks and started off on the long plod up to Coire na Ciste from the tent, which was pitched on the level ground just above the CIC hut. We could only see a few hundred metres up in to the corrie as the cloud was low. It was a mild and damp kind of day and everything seemed grey. On occasion I glimpsed the foot of the massive Comb buttress jabbing down into the pure snows of the upper corrie. Then it was lost in the clouds once more.

It was now two o'clock in the afternoon. I reckoned on an hour to the foot of the route. Three hours for the climb. That would be six o'clock. Dusk. Yes, we should have enough time to drop down Tower Gully and then it was only a quick run down Observatory gully and back to the tent. We'd be tucking into our pasta and potatoes by 7pm at the latest.

We headed up a small gorge which cut along the left side of the corrie just below the Douglas boulder. It was snowing lightly and as we entered the gorge the wind funnelled the small flakes directly into our faces.

"Alan marched ahead and confidently front-pointed his way up, varying his technique as the angle and consistency of the snow changed..."

The gorge ended in a ten metre high steepening. Alan marched ahead and confidently front-pointed his way up, varying his technique as the angle and consistency of the snow changed. "Good", I thought. He'll be OK. I followed him up to find a flat and open section which was a few hundred metres long. I could see that beyond this was a further little gorge with a snow slope at the end of it. We hurried towards it.

On entering the second gorge, we were faced with the most amazing ice formations I have seen on a Scottish mountain. The whole of the left wall of the gorge was encased in magnificent ice structures, the most prominent being a tall cylinder of ice, free standing from the wall of the gorge, about a metre across and about 10 metres high. It was like looking in to the Mediterranean Sea. It seemed solid, yet fragile and it had a wonderful translucence. Its shade varied from a deep, deep blue in the centre, to the pale blue of a winters sky at its edge. And all around it were miniature icicles, clear and dripping on the surface, yet sharing the same deep colour underneath.

We marvelled at this structure for some time and were almost tempted to climb it. But, we could not afford to be distracted after such a late start. So we left our crystal grotto by the snow slope at its end and proceeded to climb up to the open slopes of Coire na Ciste.

Breaking trail up the slopes of the corrie was exhausting. There was a very thin melt-freeze crust on top of some very soft snow. This was mainly due to the exceptionally mild winter which had seen most of the Scottish peaks stripped of snow in February. It was only a large dump of fresh snow the weekend before which had allowed our trip to go ahead.

"Shit", I thought to myself as I sunk in up to my thighs for the third time in as many steps. This is going to take for ever. I glanced back at Alan, who seemed grateful for my trail-breaking as he was finding it hard going as well.

"Forty seven, forty eight, forty nine, fifty. Phew!." I stopped for breath. The last time I'd had to use the walk for fifty paces and stop for a breath routine was in the Alps..."

"Forty seven, forty eight, forty nine, fifty. Phew!." I stopped for breath. The last time I'd had to use the walk for fifty paces and stop for a breath routine was in the Alps!. All kinds of thoughts were going through my mind. Rucksack's too big....too much gear....got to get fitter....No, I'll need this gear in Glovers....I'm sure I'm carrying more than He is....No, I needed the big sack for the tent and food....One, two, three, four......

At last we arrived at the foot of the initial ice fall of the route. Time for a Mars whilst we're gearing up. Four o'clock. What? That took longer than expected. "Hope you've got your head-torch Alan", I quipped. A breathless Alan grinned back, "You never told me about the bloody walk-ins". I couldn't help thinking that ALan might be disillusioned by the "charms" of winter climbing in Scotland. We'd spent the best part of three hours walking up from the distillery with enough gear to survive on the Ben for three nights, then another two hours up this and we haven't even started the route yet! It's a bit different from the walk in to Bowles Rocks, where the climbing is 50 yards from the car!

The first pitch was mine. I looked up. The ice was not too thick and didn't have much snow on it. It seemed thick enough. It lacked the fantastic colouring of the ice we had encountered earlier. Instead it was plain, grey thawing water ice. Above this ice was the entry to the gully proper. It looked straightforward enough, however it was a mild day and it had been snowing. Every few minutes little powder avalanches were funnelled down the gully and shot over the entry ice fall. I made a mental note and prepared to set off.

I jabbed my axe and got a good solid placement. My hammer followed and promptly bounced back as it struck rock and the ice dinner-plated off. Whoops! Better go easier on this, I thought. I tried again. That was better. Next the feet went on and I was away. After about 10 metres the angle eased before the crux of the pitch. I cut myself a wider step and moved up to look for a runner. Which screw to use? A drive in? No. A screw in? Now the choice became simple. Should I use a Grivel titanium screw or one of these dodgy old Russian ones I picked up cheap a few years ago? No choice really.

"The left one which was the true line up to the chimney was a smooth steep snow gully, as straight as a rod, terminating in the enclosed confines of the base of the chimney..."

The screw went in smoothly, through solid ice all the way. I clipped one of the ropes and headed on up. The ice was good and a few well aimed axe blows saw me over the worst of it. As the angle eased I could see two snow filled gullies ahead. The left one which was the true line up to the chimney was a smooth steep snow gully, as straight as a rod, terminating in the enclosed confines of the base of the chimney. The right hand gully started off in the same manner, but disappeared off around a corner at a steepening and a constriction. Above, it looked like the two gullies could possibly join up again.

Just as I was debating which line to follow, and verging towards the true line of the route, a huge sluff of snow shot down the left hand gully, past my head and over the ice fall. That decided it. The right branch was for me.

I climbed over a rock step to enter the right branch of the gully. The snow was fairly steep and very soft. My fists plunged in along with my axes and the snow came up to my elbows. This was going to be slow going! Ahead I could see that the gully twisted to the right and formed a little chimney only a few metres high. I couldn't see beyond that so I decided to look for a belay.

The walls of the gully were smooth sided unbroken slab, not very high and rounded on top. Much scraping around and clearing of ice and snow failed to come up with anything decent and I was facing the unpleasant task of belaying Alan on his first ice route with my deadman in what can only be described as 'crap' snow.

Whilst burying the deadman I happened to notice a little nobble of rock on the left wall which looked like it just might hold a long sling. It did and I dug myself into as secure and deep a seat as possible in the gully bed. I was down as far below the sling as I could be, to improve the line of pull. Still, I did have the deadman to back it up!

On my call, Alan wasted no time in setting off up the ice and before long he was floundering around in the soft snow of the gully bed a few feet below me. "How did you find that?", I enquired. "Quite hard", replied Alan, "a lot harder than that stuff we did this morning!"

Despite this, Alan decided to lead through, so I handed him the sling with the rack on and off he went as before, swimming up the deep powder leading up to the bend in the gully.

It looked like a tight squeeze as he put his back against the right wall and bridged up. With a gasp and a grunt he was up and around the corner. That was the last I saw of him for some time.

"Time is measured in metres not minutes as you feed the rope through your hands and gradually watch the coils at your feet disappear..."

That time could have been 20 minutes, it could have been two hours. Sitting at a stance on a route is sometimes a surreal situation. Time is measured in metres not minutes as you feed the rope through your hands and gradually watch the coils at your feet disappear. There are pauses when no rope moves for some time. Thoughts often wander at this point away from the concern for the situation. Sometimes it's to admire the panorama in front of your eyes.....

Not today however, there was no view. Instead my mind wandered to thoughts of Jane back home. Where was she now? Was she thinking of me? Could she see me? Would she understand Why? Did I understand Why?

Thoughts then drifted back to me and my situation. I thought about my insignificance. My body, hardly a spec of dust stuck to the side of this great north east face of Ben Ne vis. Only two miles from Fort William, but it might as well be a hundred. Indeed we might as well be ten thousand feet up, for all that was visible was a few glimpses of lower rocks and snow slopes in the swirling clouds below.

Suddenly I was awakened from my dreams by the sound of an axe scraping around on rock, echoing around me. Initially I thought it must be the sounds from other climbers, but we had seen no one all day, so I must presume it was Alan who had disturbed my thoughts. In the next instant I heard the sound of snow racing down the gully, like sand being poured on a tin tray. I braced myself, burying my neck inside my jacket collar, hoping that my helmet would keep the worst of it off of me. This was to no avail. The snow shot around the corner, took off and showered me in fine particles, most of which seemed to home in on my neck. My hood was in the bottom of my sack....

After a time, when most of the rope had gone, I felt a few tugs on the line. I had to presume Alan was up and was safe. I hastily undid the belay and as I did so the slack rope was taken in.

I set off, moving slowly at first. Initially fighting off the numbness in my legs and feet, then learning the best technique for proceeding in the difficult snow. The twist in the gully was fun, but not difficult, a sign of things to come perhaps.....

Afterwards, the gully was straightforward snow, a little firmer than before and with a few steeper steps to add a little interest. In what seemed like no time I was up with Alan, who had a good belay at a large block, just where our gully re-joined the main gully. As I looked up and down the main gully line which I had earlier rejected, I could see that it was as straight as a die and completely uniform in slope. Looking up, it looked like seventy or eighty metres to the top of the gully and in the distance I thought that I could see the beginning of the dreaded crux chimney.

"I did not have the confidence that the gully would not avalanche..."

Snow was still sluffing down the gully at intervals, but more worrying than this there was a windslab fracture right across the gully bed only a few metres below our belay. Normally I would have suggested that we move together on a short rope on such easy ground, but I did not have the confidence that the gully would not avalanche. Instead, Alan remained firmly tied onto his anchor.

I nervously stepped out into the line of fire.

The gully was hard going on the same soft snow we had encountered before. Strangely, I was only attacked by one powder sluff and in what seemed like no time, I had run out fifty metres of rope and was placing my deadman smack bang in the middle of the gully. Of course I was now confident that the gully was safe!

A few tugs on the rope got the message through to Alan. Shortly he was standing beside me in the snow.

It was now six o'clock and the light was fading. It's very difficult to judge just when it is getting dark when there is so much snow around, especially as we were in cloud. But the light was definitely fading away and one thing was for sure, it would be dark before we would complete the route. I kept my thoughts to myself. Morale was still high.

I passed Alan the rack and off he went up the uncomplicated slope. This should see us to the chimney, I thought. Sitting in the snow paying out the rope my thoughts turned to just how we were going to get off the mountain in the dark. The abseil from Tower Gap into Tower Gully and descent thereby into Observatory Gully would be the quickest and most direct. However, the snowfall had been steady all day and I was concerned about the stability of the snow in Tower Gully and indeed the cornice at it's head. I have a great fear of avalanches and will always avoid avalanche prone ground if there is any doubt.

Another alternative was to locate the summit cairn and then navigate down to the abseil posts at the head of Coire Leis. There were two things that bothered me about this descent - the amount of snow in the head of Coire Leis and more importantly, a friend had told me that all of the poles on the Ben had been removed, including these ones.

The next option was the longest, but the safest given the snow conditions. We would find the summit, then follow the classic bearings of 231 degrees for 150 metres and 281 degrees for 800 metres to take us down to the top of the Red Burn where we would descend the line of the tourist path as far as Lochan Meall-'an t-Suidhe before contouring around below the North East face and back up to the hut and our tent. This would be a long descent but would be safe and should be fairly pleasant on this still night.

My thoughts were disturbed by a sharp tug on the rope. I looked up to see Alan waving at me from a stance which was at the right wall of the gully just before a steepening. From where I was this looked like the start of the chimney.

Without further ado I stood up and started dismantling the belay. This took slightly longer than expected, firstly because I was quite stiff and secondly because the Deadman seemed to be buried about twelve feet down. 'Bombproof' I thought to myself as I wrestled it out by it's cable.

When I arrived beside Alan I could see that he had belayed at the foot of a little chimney which was only a few metres high. What lay above was any ones guess. Conversation was now down to a minimum because of the urgency of our cause. I took the opportunity to look out my headtorch and fasten it to my helmet - I might not get another chance to do so.

We quickly swapped the rack over and I took a deep breath before setting off. I was now getting quite tense, mainly because of the impending darkness, but also because I thought I was launching out on the pitch which would take me up the crux chimney and in to Tower Gap.

"The ice here was thin and the underlying rock quite slabby so caution was the order of the day. After only a few moves I reached easier snow, which in twenty metres took me up to the first really difficulty, a huge chockstone blocking my path up the gully..."

Leaving the stance was made extremely awkward mainly because Alan had constructed the belay right across the start of the pitch! I climbed across and gingerly placed my crampons in between a sling and the rope. The ice here was thin and the underlying rock quite slabby so caution was the order of the day. After only a few moves I reached easier snow, which in twenty metres took me up to the first really difficulty, a huge chockstone blocking my path up the gully. I switched on my head torch in order to inspect this obstacle.

The chockstone blocked the gully at a point where it was only about four feet wide. Here the base of the gully was almost level thanks to a build up of snow but the top of the chockstone was about seven feet above the bed. Underneath was a damp mossy cave, only about four feet deep, but solid rock right to the back, so any hopes of an easy tunnelling route were dashed straight away. The walls of the gully were very smooth with no obvious holds. The left wall did have a slight chip out of it, about five feet up and a foot back from the edge of the chock stone. It formed a sloping hold perhaps big enough to take a crampon point or two. The first break in the plain right wall provided a slightly larger flat hold, but this was much farther back and was lower down. I could not see how this could be of much use.

Protection was also difficult to find but eventually I managed to wriggle my favorite bit of kit - my flexi-friend 1.5 into the verglassed crack formed between the right edge of the chockstone and the gully wall.

I decided that back and footing was the only option, but first I must find good placements for my tools. I managed to get the hammer wedged into a good constriction in the crack formed be the left edge of the chock stone and the gully wall. This inspired my confidence, only momentarily however, as the right tool was floundering around in soft snow and didn't want to hold. Still, I had to go for it so with out further delay I raised my right foot up as high as I could and just managed to get it into the sloping hold on the right wall. I strenuously levered myself up, with my back against the left wall of the gully. I searched for a placement for my right axe, but found only soft snow. My left crampon was now desperately scraping around for a hold. I tried to get it into the sloping hold beneath my back, but it would not hold. After some struggling up and down with no real purpose my legs started to shake under the strain and my arms began to ache. Woefully I slumped down into the gully bed in order to rest and to re-think the move.

I could see no other way of doing this. There were only two holds for my feet and one for my hand/axe. How else could I use them? Again I tried to surmount the obstacle. Again I failed. Now I was severely worried. If I could not get over this first chockstone of Glovers chimney, what hope had I of contending with the difficulties above? And what chance did Alan have? I tried one more time, but this time my heart was not in it. I slumped down and sat in the mouth of the cave to reflect.

My thoughts drifted to my readings of W.H. Murray's classic essays in his book, "Mountaineering in Scotland". Murray was often faced with impossible situation on many of his pioneering climbs. Usually these were overcome, sometimes by combined tactics involving both climbers. I would bring Alan up! Then one way or another we would solve this problem.

I hastily backed up the belay with a small rock in a small flake crack in the back of the cave. I just hoped that the belay would not need to hold a fall as I was unsure of the performance of rock gear in verglassed cracks, although I suspected the worst.

I switched off my torch to save the battery. It was now very dark. How long had I spent on this problem? Ten minutes? An Hour? I had no idea of the time as my watch was buried deep beneath my Gore-Tex mitts and layers of jackets and fleece.

"As Alan approached the stance I started to explain the predicament to him. I even went as far as to suggest that he may have to stand on my shoulder in order to proceed..."

As Alan approached the stance I started to explain the predicament to him. I even went as far as to suggest that he may have to stand on my shoulder in order to proceed. Desperate measures. Alan grunted in acknowledgement, shone his torch up and around scanning the situation as I had done, and then to my surprise he launched himself up and above my head using the same two holds I had, but with his back on the opposite side of the chimney. It was so obvious.....

This was a frightening position for me to be in. My outlook was framed by the walls of the gully, the snow and the silhouette of Alans legs bridged across the gap, his crampons inches from my head. He managed to get one foot in the sloping hold on the left wall, then to my amazement he got the other one in as well. His head was now above the chock stone and he began to back and foot up the walls of the gully. Sparks flew as his crampons scraped up the wall. The air smelled of hot metal.

From my constricted position in the cave I could not see very much and very soon I could only hear the scrape of axe and crampon and the sound of Alan straining to levitate himself up and over the obstacle. Very soon the noises ceased and the rope started to move faster through my hands. I relaxed slightly and began to feel more positive about completing the climb. After half the rope had run out there was a long pause and then the three familiar tugs which signified that a belay had been found and it was my turn to climb.

This time I found it much easier. I stepped back from the chock stone and put my right foot up and onto the hold in the right wall. This gave me the height to get goodish axe placements. I then put my left foot, closelchimneyy followed by the right into the sloping hold on the left wall. All that remained was to wriggle up and shuffle across until I was almost sitting atop the chock stone. There I paused for a breath and then set off up the easy snow to Alan's belay.

Alan had belayed using a sling around a large block. This block was right at the foot of the chimney. As I approached him, I quipped, "You know, I feel really lucky - I'm getting both good pitches on this route. You can have it if you really want...". I then went on to congratulate Alan on his impressive technique back at the chock stone. He simply replied, "Well, it was either that or being stuck there all night and I didn't fancy that."

"As Alan approached the stance I started to explain the predicament to him. I even went as far as to suggest that he may have to stand on my shoulder in order to proceed..."

I turned around and looked up at the chimney. The beam of my torch filled the chimney with light. I could see it was very narrow in places and there were a couple of bulges and - yes more chock stones to surmount. There was snow in the chimney, forming an incomplete white run up the back, interspersed by the chockstones. Narrow cracks and small flat holds on the chimney wall were betrayed by the snow which filled and covered them. The top section was a plain icy, about four metres high. Above this was space and the sky and Tower Gap. I felt like I was at the bottom of a mine shaft, gaining my first glimpse of daylight, or starlight as it was in this case. Above lay freedom, but first the chimney had to be beaten to gain the right to stand amongst the stars.

I recalled when I'd climbed Tower Ridge in the summer a few years ago. That day was also misty. I'd felt sheer terror I looked from Tower Gap down the slabby almost vertical abyss of Glovers chimney, bottomless as far as I was concerned. Here I was now, four years later looking up to that very spot with the same anticipation and wonder as I had from the relatively easy ground on the ridge.

I now spent some time organizing the gear on my rack, pulling the Rocks, pegs and Friends to the front, pushing the ice screws to the back - I wouldn't need these. I murmured something like "here goes" to Alan, took a deep breath and then I was off.

Initial steep snow which allowed reasonable axe placements took me up to the first obstacle - a chockstone. Here though the chimney was narrow, less than three feet across.

Darkness did not really add to the difficulty of the climb. It would not cause any route finding problems as it was certainly clear which way I had to go. Also, I only had to concentrate on what was in front of me and a few feet above my head at any one time. It may have been an advantage to be climbing like this. There was no sense of exposure, no sense of the abyss through my legs and beneath my feet. In fact I was quite content in my insular world, quite cosy in this narrow shaft with the stars above and only darkness below. I was safe but not claustrophobic.

At the foot of the chock stone I placed a Friend in a crack on the right. Only then did I notice an old peg , so I clipped that as well, better to be safe than sorry was the motto of the day. I stepped up to the top of the snowbed, then torqued my left axe into the crack at the left edge of the chockstone and hooked my right axe over the top. I slowly but confidently raised myself up using reasonable ledges for my feet. Again, back and foot was the order of the day, so I wedged my back against the right wall of the chimney and walked my crampons up the little holds on the left.

Once over this obstacle there was the opportunity to rest. Actually it was almost a prerequisite, as the chimney was so narrow and I so well jammed in that it seemed the only thing to do. In the end it actually took greater effort to move up than it did to remain in this suspended position!

The chimney allowed my continuation by means of small footfolds and cracks and flakes up either side which allowed excellent axe torquing and hooking, with the feet using a mixture of these holds and some on the side walls.

"I was forced to move up on these tiny holds which were about twenty centimeters long and only a few millimeters wide..."

Soon I was brought to a halt below another bulge in the chimney. Here as before a chock stone blocked my way. However footholds on the chimney were much smaller, only given away by the narrow rib of snow which had settled on them. I was forced to move up on these tiny holds which were about twenty centimeters long and only a few millimeters wide. Halfway up a semi-rest was allowed. Here I spotted a peg in the left wall, driven into a horizontal crack which dropped vertically down the back of a small flake. Clipping it was very difficult because it was driven so well in. I persevered and managed to clip it. Just then I also spotted a placement on the opposite wall. This took a large Hex. This really boosted my confidence. I couldn't help wondering why previous climbers had used a peg at a spot where other protection possibilities existed. Surely the peg wasn't that old, was it?

I now gently progressed up over the bulge, which was definitely the crux of the route, and into a jammed resting position. I looked up to see what was next and to my amazement saw that I was at the foot of the final slab. My progress had been speedier than I thought, because of the dark and my concentration on two or three feet of the route at a time.

Above the slab I could see only space, the space of the starry night sky which was framed by the sides of Tower Gap. What a situation. Now I was so close and nothing was going to stop me. I tried to resist the urge to rush up the last few feet, which were very difficult as the slab was holdless, as were the side walls. However, where the slab met the side walls of the chimney a fairly broad crack formed for its whole length down both sides. The slab actually seemed to extend up into Tower Gap a couple of feet to form a block, as I could see space through the top eighteen inches or so of the side cracks.

I decided to move, so I thrust my axes into the cracks and found good placements. My crampons were rammed into the crack where it widened and I flung myself up. A huge reach with my right hand allowed my axe head to pass between the top of the slab and the right wall of Tower Gap, but it would not hold solid. So I moved up a foot or so until I could reach the space with my hand. I rammed my right mitt through the gap and formed a clenched fist. I pulled my arm back and it held. Superb, I thought, a Gore-Tex fist jam on Tower Gap and the last move of the climb. What a way to finish! My feet scrabbled and scraped up the sides of the slab and I pushed my left hand up and over the block that the top of the slab formed. The last few seconds were a blur as I wriggled up and out of the chimney and into Tower Gap.

I stood up and gave it some. WOOOOOOHOOOO!!! There was no-one to hear, except perhaps Alan, but I could not contain my joy. The sense of relief and achievement was overwhelming. I had to pause for a few moments and gather my thoughts.

I looked around. In front of me was a sharp drop over some boulders - the side of the gap which led into Tower Gully. To my left was the block which I'd just scrabbled over and above that, the left side of the gap. On my right was the way out of the gap and the top of the Ben. I looked at my watch - 8pm. Little did I know that the adventure was only about to begin........
......to be continued

Fraser Wenseth, Mountain Zone Pubster

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