Setting off from Dores around 8am, it took an hour and twenty minutes to get into Glen Affric,and ten more minutes to reach the official car park, quietly dreading the new £2.00 charge for day visitors, which has created so much anger so far. I was in luck; the machine was out of order. I wonder why? Someone messing with it? Who knows. When my sack was packed (including a short axe just in case) I walked along the metal road for almost a mile before spotting a small track which seemed to be the one described in the Munro book,  leading up and in the right direction, and going east across the front of Am Meallan (652m) and round the back of this smaller peak, before heading north to the river running west to east down the Gleann nam Fiadh. I took the track and soon was heading around the mountain.

Across the plateau to the river

The track was almost driveable with a 4 x 4, but I started to wonder if it was going the right way. A quick check with the map assured me it would swing back north after a long curve, so I cut the corner off. Big mistake. The ground was sodden, mushy, soaking wet, you name it, and it was with some effort that I climbed at first then dropped down a little before reaching the sanctuary of the original path. No more short cuts, I vowed.

In some occasional snow flurries, I reached the river and checking ahead in the direction of the Bealach Toll Easa, I spotted the track rising up the hillside. Getting across the river wasn’t so easy, and the grassy ground on the other side rose sharply for a good height. I shrugged shoulders and battled my way up the hillside, but even when I reached the (supposedly better) track, it wasn’t! Following the general direction of the track, I tediously changed alternatively from the right-side to the left-side and only occasionally did I consider the track, being soaking wet and very boggy, and it was easier to stay on one side or another. It took quite a while before the angle eased and I looked forward to reaching the Bealach.

Approaching Bealach Toll Easa

The advent of snow covering all around the col and beyond put paid to any easy stroll from now on. Again, I buckled down to post holing up to my calves, and eventually I felt the cooler wind telling me I was on the Bealach Toll Easa. The light snow had picked up a little, but it wasn’t as bad as last Monday in the Cairngorms.

A few minutes rest and a cup of flask tea on the Bealach , then I was off to the east. The book said the summit was that way and I assumed, as it had quoted -

‘The summit is easily reached from here’.

The summit of Toll Creagach was in sight

 I didn’t think it would much of a distance. I was wrong. It was over 2k through calf deep snow which, no matter how I tried, the surface wouldn’t support my weight for more than the first couple of seconds. Strenuous walking.

However, a vague summit was in sight although I was surprised it turned out to be so far along the fairly easy angled-and broad ridge.

No worries now though, I was set on the summit, but I’d already realised I was really going in the wrong direction for this trek, with

A few more metres

Toll Creagach in front of me, and Tom a’Chionich -1112m, the sister peak behind me. The lack of RTFM had meant I’d started up the wrong end, but I had no worries. It was cracking excercise, just what I needed. However,  I was silently pleased to think, because of the soft and surprisingly deer snow lying on the high peaks, I wouldn’t be back-tracking to the Bealach and off up the second peak, for sure. I’d leave that climb for another day.

It was with slight relief that I reached the semi circle of rocks around the trig point. Taking a needed break with food and drink, I checked for the expected great views over west I’d been hoping for. Unfortunately, with the clouds producing these flurries of snow, everywhere was dark and often cloudy, and I missed out on great picture. I took some for the record though.

With Tom a’Chonich out, left for another visit when there’s less snow, I scanned the hillside to the east, called Beinn Eun. This was the way I should have come up. Oh well. I’d had a good work out.

I chose the Beinn Eun ridge as the way back

I took off down the easy slopes towards the river, some 2k away, but soon found it more awkward than planned. I needed to zigzag to avoid great holes full of water, but eventually, the slope levelled out and I crossed the river onto the south bank. All needed to do now was follow the river and meet up with the path come down from the nearby Am Meallan. The ground was a bit awkward, and I had tokeep deciding how close to the water’s edge I would follow. It

Reaching the river

was logical to keep close to the river’s bank but it was also quite messy

along this line. Around 30 minutes brought me across to the fairly good track.

I rested here, and I realised it now seemed much more inclined than on the way down. Another cup of sweet tea and I climbed slowly (yes, the pace had diminished now) and positively towards the crest of the hillside. Over that crest would be all downhill to the road.

Bill had been traversing the valley on either side of the river that day, and we both rested while we chatted, and the flask of tea was eventually emptied. I bade farewell to this nice chap and continued up hill, passing over some level ground before I knew it was virtually all over, now I was going downhill.

Loch Beinn a' Mheadhoin (Glen Affric) from below the summit

I hit the road exactly where I’d started and the mile along the track was unavoidable now. The car seat felt a bit like heaved, and my 2^nd flask of hot tea was exactly that.

Driving back tom Dores, I realised there were many more hikes and scrambles around Glen Affric, so here was a place I could call unfinished business after all.

Next I will read the manual!

Three more good Munros to the east of Am Meallan

He’s just reached 60 yrs now and both Clare and I were invited along with a few other close friends to a small party at his and partner Jo, their lovely house in Fangdale Beck, North Yorkshire, the ‘do’ starting around 6.30pm at a pub in the nicely-named ‘Chop Gate’ village.

It was great seeing the ‘lad’ and Jo again and others ‘famous legends’ that were there. The problem was, the beer had flowed too fast and, driving back north on Sunday morning, I didn’t feel too good. Clare did do the driving though.

Not too clever for my acclimatisation and fitness training for Peru, but I had to be there.

As Monday dawned with better feelings, I considered a day out on the hills again. I’d read the latest ‘Scottish Mountaineer’ magazine which described a ‘secret winter climbing crag’ in the Cairngorms, and I was keen to check the approach and even the descent down this ‘Recovery Gully’ which led between two 70m buttresses to the Strath Nethy valley. 

Blizzard conditions at car park

Parking up at Corrie na Ciste, things didn’t look good. It was a blizzard (in May?) but luckily it didn’t last too long and after packing my ‘sack I swung past the ski tows and trudged off up the reasonably good trail towards the right-hand side of Corrie Laogh Mor. After a short rise up the track, I felt it was heading away from the corrie so I cut off left towards the hillside above.

There was a lot of wet grass and some small snow patches low down, and as it got steeper, with no track, the going got quite tough. At least the weather had improved.

 I forced myself at my usual too rapid a pace (I must get someone to come out with me on these walks, then I can relax and take my time) and it got quite strenuous. Especially when I broke out of the deep heather and met up with large areas of calf-deep snow. Still pretty steep, this wasn’t easy ground to get through, but I felt it was good (?) for me with Peru coming in less than three weeks.

I crested the ridge and switched on the Sat Nav. The ground was much more extensive than I had imagined, and somehow I had to locate this ‘Recovery Gully’ that would lead me down to the bottom of the cliffs. The mist wasn’t too bad and I trudged across the plateau making a long line of postholes which would be useful if the visibility got worse.

 I’m getting more and more impressed with my Garmin 62st Sat Nav. The magazine article’s grid reference was spot on. However, as I peered down a very steep gully, I did feel there was no way I was dropping into this one today. Full of deep, soft and wet snow, I’d be taking a major risk. So I took some photos and started to consider my next move. Looking south

This could be an easier gully

along the cliff edge, I spotted, less than 50 meters away, another depression which might be another possible descent? It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes to reach the spot and I was peering into a much-easier way down.

I still noted the snow in the gully, and decided I’d done enough for today, and so, with the mistdropping now and not really wanting to go back down those steep grassy hillsides, I took a bearing to the south and followed this easily through some snowy rocks to the top of a spur which ran directly down the west side of Coire Laugh Mor.   The easy snow descent I had planned when going down this ridge turned into a huge post holing job and I was somewhat relieved to

I decided it may be easier to go down that ridge back to base

reach the easily-angled ground. I veered west again, across a small col and summitted a small rise ahead of me. Directly below and in clear view now were the car park and the continuation of the track I’d turned off, some three hours earlier.

Another fifteen to twenty minutes and I was clambering past stacked ski-tow chairs and across to my car. A few other cars were now parked up and I saw a few folks wandering around on the nearby tracks in the heather fields. My mountain boots had lost their protective gaiters long ago and my socks were now wringing wet, so changing attire, and after getting a cup of tea and some food down me, I was heading for Aviemore and then home.

The numerous rescue service vehicles that streamed past me going south, betrayed another accident on the A9 somewhere further down, and it was sad to hear the following day of the triple-lorry crash north of Dunkeld. Come on – dual the road for goodness sake!

My day had been fairly short but great and very effective, although I will return when the snow is less or gone completely and will check out the routes from below. The ‘secret’ corrie looks great from above. It has, according to the latest ‘Scottish Mountaineer’ magazine,  fifteen two-pitch routes presently, ranging from winter grade II to VII and with a cliff base of 950m, and a potential for dozens of shorter lines, especially to the left (south) of the descent gullies.

It all bodes well for next winter, when conditions for the approach should be better, firmer, and the crowds in Corrie an T- Sneachda are happily scurrying up the classics and down the Goat Track.

Happy hooking.

I will be back here, for sure.

Seana Bhraigh from the ring contour

 With only some thirty days left before my odyssey to Peru and Alpamayo, I felt it was time to do some training.

Seana Bhraigh (927 metres) is about six kilometres north of Beinn Dearg, and is described as ‘occupying a remote situation and vying for the title of the most distant Munro’. It had been on my mind for a fair while, since tagging on to Mark and doing Ben Hope and that strenuous (full) traverse of Ben More Assynt. Senna Bhraigh was one of Mark’s few remaining Munros and it sounded tough. We were going to do it after our Ben More Assynt day but the weather clagged in and spoilt the plan. Our idea was shelved until further notice.

I suspect I should have told Mark I was going, but on Tuesday evening, with the brilliant forecast for Wednesday, my mind focused on the plan and I completely forgot about my usual walking partner.

I did appreciate the only photos I’d get would be of the route, the surrounding hills, and with no partner along, no shots of me on route? Oh well, the training was probably more important.

This good, long hike with a rucksack was calling. I left Loch Ness around 5.45am and sped along the A835 towards Ullapool. Turning off at the Beinn Dearg car park, I parked up, removed the mountain bike from the rack behind the car, had a last check of my rucksack belongings and mounted up. It only took 20 fairly leisurely minutes to reach the end of the forest track, where I locked the bike to the fencepost, and set off up the steep track.

I had done the first section on a previous recce trip. That day I’d only started from the locked bike around 2pm, but it was also a very nice day, yet no matter how swiftly I went, and I wasn’t racing, it was always on my mind that the summit would be unlikely, especially if I was to get back home for evening dinner. As I had now improved my knowledge of which track to take from the forest end after my recce trip, I quickly pulled up the steep incline but soon I felt pretty warm. I was carrying two separate litres of cool orange juice drinks and a flask of tea, so there was little

An Teallach from Senna Bhraigh

reason to get dehydrated. After reaching the more easier-angled slopes, I stopped and had a swig of juice. It was a chance to look around. An Teallach stood proudly to the south-east and in all other directions, numerous other Munros poked their heads out of the Haar that would soon be lifting and leaving that forecasted clear and sunny day. I continued after my break across the ridge and dropped down into the valley leading up to the Sgeirich Lochan at 758 metres. Just as before, I kept on

The first lochan in Coire Lochain Sgeirich

the fairly good path to the right of this lochan in the corrie of the same name. I’d been this way before and the path so far was reasonable, but now I was presented with some awkward and time-consuming rocks to pass, in   order to climb the steeper terrain leading up to the easier angled groundon the plateau above .

I had anticipated the ground would soon drop down in height after a short distance across the col so I was surprised to see I was in for quite a hike before dropping slightly lower and reaching the succession of small lochans under Meall Corrie Ghlais. This was new

The top of Allt an Lochain Sgeirich

ground now and my adrenalin was rising, I knew I’d crack this beast today, hook or by crook.

There’s one mistake I always make when solo hiking. I tend to go a little too fast. With no-one to chat to, there seems no point in stopping for rests or other reasons. ‘Why not crack on and get the job done’? Today was no exception, and it was with some slight urgency that I tracked across the rough and now very wet ground towards where I knew the way should lead down to the wide open area containing Loch a’ Cadha Dheirg. Unfortunately I’d long since lost any real track, and was simply heading in the general direction of Gate of Ca-derg. This was a slight mistake. As I dropped diagonally down past some steeper, more rocky ground between Meall a’ Corrie Ghlais and the rocky buttress to the east, I ended up on very nice flat terrain, but it was dreadfully wet.  Melting snows had recently saturated large areas and I soon realised I should have held the higher ground closer to Meall a’ Corrie Ghlais. There seemed no point in retracing any steps and I continued across what was very swampy ground.

The 'swamp' area

 In a moment of carelessness, I stepped into what looked like a shallow pool of murky water and suddenly I was up to my thighs in what can only be described as quicksand! It gave me quite a scare. I was reluctant to go backwards, and with no solid ground anywhere around me, I hurriedly waded forwards, lurching for some protrusions of tufted grass, which fortunately were appearing every four or five metres and offering islands of safety from where I could calculate my next few moves. Of course, everything below my thighs was now covered in an obscene amount of slime, mud and dripping water, but luckily,

After my 'swamp' incident

the temperature of both the air and the water wasn’t too off-putting, and, I was heading in the right direction. Firmer, drier ground was clearly ahead.

After a few more meters of this epic, the disaster was over, and I took stock of my grim lower half, shrugging my shoulders to the unpleasant mess I’d got myself into. With the forecast as it was, there seemed little point in changing my plans, soI continued, climbing more steeply through the Gate of Ca-derg.

 I stopped after a short while to look around me, and was pleasantly surprised to see I had passed my dog-leg  point and was heading left and upwards for the ring contour before the final section to the summit of Seana Bhraigh.

The ring contour from the summit

 I was delighted and switched up a gear. Although there was now plenty of wet snow all around, I could usually find a suitable way around  the white stuff, which mostly avoided me getting any wetter and possibly colder.

I reached the ring contour and without pausing, I broke a trail through the now deeper but not too offensive snow and down to the col on the summit ridge at 850 metres. I paused for a quick drink from my bottle and then headed slowly up towards the summit. What with the length of my day so far, almost four hours, and the debacle of the swamp, I was now getting pretty tired, but

Summit shelter

spurred on by the ever closer summit, at 11.20am, just under four hours from leaving the mountain bike, I flopped against the outside of the summit shelter, the inside being partly taken up by old snow.

The tranquillity of the lunch hour was broken by the arrival of a nice couple, all the way from London. They were on a camping trip, having done part of the ridge above Toman Conich the previous day, so they had a shorter climb than me to Seana Bhraigh’s summit from their tent lower down.

The London pair

 They pointed to where they said they’d left their rucksacks, but I couldn’t really see anything. After a few more minutes of chatting, with my solo spell broken, I bade them farewell and headed back. Choosing to avoid the ring contour this time, I made good progress diagonally down and towards the Gate of Ca – derg, having to re-adjust my line at one point, as I was getting a bit close to some very steep ground above Cadha Dearg. Very steep indeed, I pondered, as I looked down a huge cleft dropping vertically down to the Cadha  Dearg valley floor, this I later worked out to be around 500 metres deep. The  ground I was traversing was steeply inclined and covered alternatively with either wet snow or soaking wet grass, and I realised I should re-ascend to easier angled ground, to avoid the possibilty of sliding into oblivion if I wasn’t very careful. My lovely trekking shoes were completely soaked and without any stiff sole, were little help going sideways, so I gained

The track was great on this side of the lochan

height until some pressure lifted from my mind. I contoured across on less steep ground now and dropping down I picked up my first faint track for a while, and soon reached the level area of the Gate of derg. I was now on a roll and staying easily on the path, I moved rapidly towards my new goal, the flatter ground to the west of Meall a’ Chorie Ghlais.

Before reaching this easier section, there had been a moment when I’d thought about by-passing the steeper cliffs to the south, where it did look even easier ground, but now I was heading for home, I just decided to re-trace my steps and I found myself on a decent, yet narrow track at most times. This track was lost when going through the rocky section under the cliff, but I was saying to myself at regular intervals – Déjà vu, I’ve been this way before.

There was still a small section of steep scrambling before I reached the level ground leading back over to the Corrie an Lochan Sgeirich, but it was easy enough and I emerged from some shadows, and headed across south-west, on what was probably the best quality of path I’d seen for a while. Of course, it was now obvious as to my mistake in coming up from Lochan Sgeirich. I had been on the wrong side of the valley. On the way back, there were no rocks, pretty-well dry ground, nearly all the way across and

Even a few cairn 'lookalikes'

down to the large flat blocks of stone fording the outlet of the Alt an Lochan Sgeirich stream. I cursed silently, thinking how much easier it would have been to have gone up the eastern side of the lochan. Still, no real harm done, although I did have to take a shot of my trekking trousers and boots. What a mess. At least now they had dried off but still caked with mud.

    Reaching the ford crossing the stream, I ignored my annoyance and soon was contouring back up over the ridge of Coir a’ Mhadaidh where at long last, the forestry plantations below were in full view. It didn’t seem much longer before I reached the mountain bike and was soon speeding down the track, clutching my peaked cap in fear of losing it, such was the downhill speed. The only interruptions were the gates, at which I had to dismount and pass through on foot. The spare flask of tea in my car was a welcome ending to a great seven hours on the hill.

Some top tips?

Be sure to keep to the north side when reaching the first Lochan, then the track is good and there are very few rocks to be scrambled through.

Using this eastern side of the valley all the way across and below Meall Choire Ghlais, it avoids almost all of the unpleasant swampy ground to the west, although it was only recently the hills were covered in deep snow which explained a lot about the wetness.

Take a mountain bike in twenty fairly slow but easy minutes to the forest end. The descent back to the car park is sheer bliss.

Smiler in the sunshine. Top of Seana Bhraigh

The huge potential for more rock routes on Mt. Kinabalu

It’s March 22nd, and another Borneo trip for me, again to do more Technical Advising and this time for putting up single pitch rock routes, on Mt. Kinabalu in Sabah, Malaysia, was arranged for me through my friend and colleague Wilfred, owner of the company called Mountain Torq. This time though, my wife, Clare, would join me around a week later for a holiday together and to see the Orang Utans, famously running wild in the jungles here.

I flew out from Heathrow, having despatched all my gear and belongings directly to Kota Kinabalu, the smart little city sitting to the north-east of Borneo, where the 4095 metre peak of Mt Kinabalu stands proudly overlooking the wild and vast jungles of Borneo.

Smiler & Wilfred. Another good working trip on the cards

As with last year, I was timely met at the airport by Wilfred, the top man and originator of Mountain Torq, and I was safely ensconced in the massive Cititel Express Hotel in the city. Next morning after breakfast Wilfred’s taxi arrived and sped us both, the one and a half hours to the national park entrance, where Wilfred and I slipped into our trekking gear and walked off into the jungle.

We reached the Pendant Hut (3289m) in just over three hours and met up again with the team of young Malaysians who form the instructor core of Mountain Torq.

Off to work. No buses here

I had already assessed the lads the previous year, for their qualities as via Ferrata instructors but this time, I would help to put up single pitch rock routes above the ‘Walk the Torq’ via ferrata, about twenty minutes hike up the summit track from the hut, and then set about training the lads for these single-pitch rock climbing courses they would eventually run in conjunction with their work as via Ferrata instructors.

Over the next six days, we did just that. Five good single pitch routes were

Checking for new routes

established, with top-rope bolt anchors backed up with an additional two-bolt safety and emergency rescue rope anchor. The lads in turn led all the routes several times until they (and I) were happy we had a good course structure to play with. I wrote the Instructor Manual they would follow, during some spare times at the hut in the evenings. Also, as with the via Ferrata courses, the instructors would have to pre-train and brief the clients in the Pendant Hut the evening before the activity took place, so I wrote the briefing as well.

Rescue training on the routes

Towards the end of the five or six days of instructor training, I changed tack and taught some important rescue techniques, allowing the lads to retrieve ‘stuck’ or injured clients from these routes, and the instructors’ performance was indeed very good. All they have to do now is do the same quality of work when I’m not observing and remember the ‘slippery hitch’!

My wife, Clare, flew out a week after me for a holiday and to turn my business prowess into something more useful. I had worked with the lads for seven days, before Clare successfully made

Clare & Smiler at 3500m on Mt. Kinabalu

the arduous trek up to the Pendant hut to join me. Two days later, after more instruction work, we evacuated from the hut complex and returned to the main office in Kota Kinabalu, for business talks with Wilfred. He had left the hut a couple of days earlier for a business meeting in Jakarta, and during his absence, I maintained the rock climbing training together with Jino, the head instructor, John, ‘J’, James, Pody and Ali. I was particularly pleased with the manner in which every instructor went about teaching the ropework, pulling off rescues, and generally I expect the clients to be very, very happy with this extra activity on the mountain, come the summer periods and into the autumn and the much better weather on

It wasn't all hot sun

the mountain.

Work over, it was time to show Clare around. Orang Utans were a prime target, as well as the world-famous Sabah caves from where the delicacy of ‘Bird’s nest soup’ originates from. These gigantic caverns deep in the jungle are inhabited by bats, birds and lots and lots of ‘creepy-crawlies’, to which Clare was to show a very quick and positive hatred.

The important Remedial Centre for Orang Utans at Sepiloc is based a long way east of the country, and an expensive and short flight would have removed some of the tediousness of the six-hour coach journey from Kota Kinabalu each way but the cost prohibited such a choice. In fact the journey wasn’t as bad as we expected.

We had booked a one-night stay in a resort called ‘The Forest Lodge complex’ and it sounded pretty suave. Sure enough, such a place deep in the Borneo jungle was guaranteed to be plush, and so it was. Jacuzzi pool and comfortable fan-cooled rooms in isolated cabins. Very nice.

At the complex office, we had arranged for a taxi to take us to the feeding site to see the Orang Utans. It was all very much prepared but there was little we could do about it if we wanted to see these famous monkeys, but it does provide some security for these pretty rare animals. The taxi man was paid enough to take us to see the Orang Utans that were (hopefully) around, to stay with us, then drive us for a couple of hours to the caves. It looked like we had a good day ahead of us.

The ‘tour’ to see the Orang Utans was timed for 10am (feeding time). We had heard rumours that there might be a shortage of beasts, as there appeared to

The one & only!

be plenty of natural fruit on the trees deep in the forest which meant the animals did not need to come and ‘perform’ for the visitors. 10am came and along the rope swung one animal, carrying her baby. She dropped down onto the feeding platform and turned her back to the throng of tourists some forty feet away. There she stayed the entire time, munching away at the fruit which had been strewn all around the wooden structure,  ignoring all our thoughts and wishes that she would turn around so we could see her face and get that magic photo. After half an hour, she rose and, clutching her baby, swung away into the jungle, fully fed and that was that.

There was nothing more to do but leave for the caves so we walked back along the wooden walkway towards the Park buildings. We eventually bade farewell to the wildlife here and settled back in the rear seats of the taxi and were shuttled to Sandicot, a small town some 80 km away and then on to the location of the famous caves. As we neared the cave site, the heavens opened and we looked like getting very wet. One umbrella and a plastic coat were the keys and we walked along a wooden walkway deep into the forest. Emerging near some buildings, I

Fantastic caverns

have to admit to being pretty impressed. The forest had suddenly reared up to near vertical and the entrance to a huge cleft in the limestone rock face showed us the way into the cave. Once inside, we shed our umbrella and plastic mac and continued deeper and deeper into the cave. The roof must have been getting on for 150 feet high but openings here and there in the ceiling provided good shafts of light, enough to light-up the walls and floors. Truly impressive.

There was more to come. Our man, leading the way along the walkway pointed to above our handrail, the side wall of the cave just visible in the gloom. At every

Cockroaches

metre or so there were hundreds of 2” long cockroaches. This was almost as much as Clare could take, but a few words of comfort had her continuing to move along and into different caverns. The walkway continued on through the cave and we often stopped and gazed at the enormous size and depth of this natural hole, watching small birds flit from nest to nest, these seemingly glued to the rock walls. The local workers would wait until eggs had hatched and chicks had flown before climbing spectacularly (and dangerously) up vine ropes conveniently lowered from the cave holes and secured at all angles so the nests on the walls could be reached and removed for their prizes – the ‘poo’ and regurgitated stomachs of the birds lining the nests. Our guide told us the ‘mess’ would bring 1000s of Malaysian Ringetts (about 4 to the £1) PER KILO in Japan, where this delicacy (?) was very much a sought-after meal. Each to his own, I thought. It was however, truly big business.

Before our visit came to an end, we had a real bonus. Walking back through the

Can you spot him. He's up there.

forest on the walkway, looking carefully and quietly up through the trees, we could see quite clearly, (I estimated at least twenty) OrangUtans swinging through the upper branches. Our ‘Lonely Planet’ guidebook had said we might be lucky and might see an Orang Utan  or two in the real wild here. There must have been twenty of them. What a bonus.

We returned to Sandicot where our man dropped us at his favourite (or was it his sister’s) hotel, and we passed the evening at the local sea front restaurant, watching a fantastic storm out to sea and eating our now preferred Chinese meal – sweet and sour chicken with rice, always a great tasty meal.

One more night in town and then another six (or was it seven hours) on the coach brought us back to Kota Kinabalu and at last some comfort and air-con.

We had one more treat laid on for us by the company, a day trip to the islands and

It's a dirty job but....

a barbeque lunch after swimming and sunbathing in the South China Sea. I’m afraid defences were down, as we got horribly sunburnt.

On April 8^th, saying farewell to Kota Kinabalu, we took a taxi in pouring rain to the airport. Twenty-four hours later we were back in the UK after a terrific time in Asia. I am expecting to go again next year but Clare may miss out then. Oh well.

The number of members booked onto the Climbers’ Club Meet had slowly

The (manufactured) ice parkway at Vemork Bridge

risen to a (nice) seventeen (including some guests and partners) by the time I’d left for Edinburgh and the Norwegian Air plane journey to Oslo Gardermoen. The full team were expected to be in place after a couple of days. We looked forward to the usual ice cube banter on this, our fourth Meet in a row.

Eventually, Sue Jeffrey and I were joined by Mike and Maddy, Richard and Matt, Chris and Angela, Phil and Haydn, Stuart and Peri, Alex and Keith, Kris, Al and Jack. We were a strong team.

The cool -26° C wasn’t too much of a concern, as we all disembarked off the planes at Gardermoen Airport, Oslo. Hired cars stuffed with holdalls, rucksacks, and copious bags of gear, we sped off once again into the Norwegian countryside, only this time, for some of the Meet attendees (including myself) , it was an early afternoon arrival, so we had our first chance to view the wonderful countryside on the three-hour trip to our hostel in Rjukan.

The new lounge

Although the hostel management had only informed us a week earlier, that the upstairs kitchen and lounge was now gutted, ready to be a conference centre, the Gjestegård was ready for us, with a new lounge and kitchen area downstairs. I had concerns that the two double hotplates and table full of plates, dishes, pots and pans would be a problem, as there was no sink or running water in the area. This was quickly solved by the hostel allowing us to use the main (very well equipped)kitchen used for dinner parties, and situated just past our breakfast room. So everything worked out very well.

The temporary kitchen

The first three or four days did keep to the cold temperatures but all the Meet members did lots of single and multi-pitch climbing, all around the valley, and some venturing further afield. It did start to warm up (a

tropical -4° eventually became the norm). Endless lists of routes would be pointless, suffice to say, the climbing was, for the fourth Meet in a row, superb, weary arms and muscles becoming the fashion with the daily climbing trips.

We did have a couple of spills, nothing too serious, plus a need to get everyone registering where they were going each day and what time they expected to be back. The newly-created form also showing all members’ mobile phone numbers,

Jack topping out on Bakveine WI4

thus enabling any concerns on members’ whereabouts to be sorted if required. After the one and only brief concern of where ‘team X’ had gone to and weren’t back to the car at well-past home time, all ran smoothly for me and the form was not needed in earnest.

The ice this year had formed everywhere, new lines and massively new shaped ones on existing guidebook routes were a real bonus. Some lines were proving harder and steeper, but all succumbed to the attack by the ‘CC Telemark’ raiders.

It was a great social scene in the evenings, in our new layout, proving we hadn’t needed to worry that we had lost the upstairs lounge which has been, up till now, part of the beauty of the meet. The duty-free alcohol flowed and each night the tales of smashing, hooking and kicking abounded.

After a great week, it was sad to slowly bid farewell and to eventually lose all the Meet members. Soon, I was alone in the hostel for my final 5 days, but fortunately, I did have company and climbing partners, having travelled in a car-share with Sue, and three climbing friends, these latter staying in a Hytteby chalet 10 mins down from the town. Two of the three lads stayed on to the end with me, and we managed to up the anti on a couple of steeper routes, like Frystikka WI5 at Kroken, which, although not pencil-shaped as in the guidebook, it was certainly very STEEP. There again, many of the team did lots of equally difficult and steep

Frystika WI5

routes as well.

After two full weeks of climbing (one rest day has to be admitted), we returned to a warm and fairly snow-free Britain. Where had all the snow gone?

I’m intending to continue the Rjukan Ice Fest Meet next year, but I will hopefully have some assistance in the Meet Leader role, and the organising, as Peri is keen to help out, with a view to taking over the Meet Leader role. What she doesn’t know is that, after she and Stuart left, we met some friendly members of the Oslo Climbing Club and they were excited about a joint Meet for 2013. Watch this space.

Richard leading The Runnell (W2)

What could I do? Refuse my best pal? No. If Richard was willing to come up just for a sunday, I’d be there, and with Rjukan coming up next week, and then Borneo again, this might be my last winter trip out for 2012.

We had talked about my lack of space in the programme that weekend but Sunday was agreed. We would snatch a day out together.

Sneachda was the obvious choice. I had only been there so far this winter, but it was great climbing, lean and untroubled by too much concern for avalanches.

Richard on the crux chimney of The Runnel (W2)

I put Richard up front today and he excelled, cruising up The Runnel (W2) as an opener, then the slightly more difficult Hidden Chimney (W2/3), with some ease I’ll tell you. It was good to see all the work we’ve

Richard cruising a 'lean' Hidden Chimney (W2/3)

done together over the years has paid off. I just sat back and was a ‘belay bunny’.

With no pressure on

Cairngorm sunset

either of us, we took a leisuerly descent watching the fantastic colours in the northern sky. Brilliant.

The cheap (very small) hire car we’d ordered, was intended to take us all the way across the States to JFK, after our climbing honeymoon in California,Utah, Idaho, Wyoming and South Dakota. That is another story to come, but the jist of this story is that the car hire company in London had charged us £450 for the three-week hire, and our friendly man in SF was saying there was a $2000 drop-off charge unpaid? It seemed that each state we would cross, would incur an extra charge, adding up to the 2K. Our man sorted it all out even better than we’d planned by telephoning London. His words still ring out after all this time ‘Mam, we both in the service industry and you are not giving this newly married couple service!’

A much better (bigger and faster) car was provided for our trouble, together with free flights and more…….another story.

Back in the Cairngorms, Jonny had two great days with me. It was no concern of mine that I was repeating routes I’d climbed with Joel only a few days before,

Smiler on Goat Track Gully crux (W2)

hence ther ‘service industry’ quote. Jonny had a super time as the conditions were even than before. On our first day together I repeated the Goat Track Gully (W2) and The Runnel (W2) with again, glorious fun mixed climbing.

The second day I upped the standard a touch by doing

With Jonny on Hidden Chimnet (W2/3)

Hidden Chimney (W2/3). today I used my new Nomics for the first time and well, talk about ‘cheating sticks’?

Jonny left with hopes of more climbs next winter. I hope so too, as he was an excellent winter climber

Joel on Goat Track Gully 2nd Crux) pitch

Janary

The winter season started slowly for me, with little snow yet still quite cold.

Joel came up for a day’s fun and we went into Corrie An’t Sneacda for some fun. Arriving at the base of the cliffs, I was pleased to see some of my favourites were pretty full of snow, hard or soft we would see.

Joel on Goat Track Gully 1st ptch finish.

Noel had a good day in the end. He hadn’t used two tools before and had only really hiked on snow, mostly in his native America. After going though a few skills theory, we spent the day on Goat Track Gully and The Runnel, both Grade 2 winter climbs and both in great condition, not too much ice but lots of good steep and hard snow. The rock chimney pitch at the top of The Runnel was particularly good fun. Joel climber very well for his first steep stuf in crampons and two tools.

Joel has since delved into UKC and hopefully aquired some tools, ready for a possible jaunt with me in the Alps this summer, and for sure, next winter in the Highlands.

Confessions of an ice fool tool

I think I had a good start in life. Put together by that wise, bearded Scot from Ballachulish, I was proud to hang on that stockroom rack with all the other wannabees. It wasn’t long before I sensed some chemistry with the one on my right. A slightly odd, flattish head on her, in complete contrast to my round and heavy features. We soon hit it off, a grand pair.

I think HE had a good deal when buying us, that day back in the early eighties. We would all leave where we were made, in pairs for some reason, out into the wide open world, where being aggressively handled was the norm. I soon got used to the pounding I was giving to those strange-shaped pieces of metal, and she became a good craftswomen, working hard, chopping away at that funny stuff HE called ice. Silly name for frozen water I always thought. Our long noses seemed to do most of the work.

HE would take us from his shed, out into the hills and up some pretty steep ground,

Where we hung out

using her first, and then me alternatively, and we both got used to being slung back on his old bag after the day out.

My fondness for my partner grew and grew. I knew she felt the same, not wishing to be taken out without me, and HE seemed to realise that. HE seemed to be getting some accolade for what HE was using us for, but we didn’t

I always loved her

mind. As long as we were dried, sharpened occasionally, and left hanging tidily in his shed at night . It was cold and dark. I heard him once say it had to be so because of the bundles of string also hanging in there? We put that darkness to good use regularly. Life was sweet.

The winds of change were growing after some ten years of great times. HE suddenly introduced my partner and me to some strangers. “Mark 2s” I heard him tell his many friends who’d come and use his files and vice. The newcomers were positioned next to us. We could get on with most, but I had a distinct feeling trouble was ahead.

It became a regular, uneasy feeling to be left hanging, when HE would select off the rack those with that shape I couldn’t describe, and I certainly didn’t like. They had my heavyweight head and her flattish top alright but it looked like they’d got bent

The Mark 2s

somehow when the bearded wise man had put them together. HE seemed keen to try them though?

My lady and I did get the occasional outing, especially every summer, a long way away from home, where it seemed our long straight shapes were best suited for what HE wanted? She often got a bit sea-sick at one point of the journey. We were stuffed under bags of food and other gear, spending long hours being thrown about in that tiny van. HE wasn’t hanging around, that’s for sure. The boat trip did give us a brief rest until once more we were hurtling south again after a couple of hours. I knew it was south because he kept telling his mates, “let’s not stop for chips, we’ve got to get down there as soon as we can”.

Alpine climbs

I was often out of breath on our first outing but the air did seem cleaner, nicer here. We were mainly back on the dark, cold stuff. Yes, cold in those early dark hours, but on the other hand, when the sun came up, we warmed quickly, and then often, we were parked outside a noisy bar and left for a couple of hours to sweat away the late afternoon. However, back at home, whenever the weather cooled, HE seemed to have to choose between that other couple, and us?

Our luck definitely changed though, when HE went off to do some “Minus” Gully (Number 3, I think HE told his pals later). There had been some problems moving out of easy ground onto steep rock and I think HE got a bit frightened. It seems their noses were angled a bit different because of how they’d been put together? That had been a real worry for him.

“I just couldn’t hook properly”, I heard him tell his pal that evening. “I wasn’t happy at all”.

She and I couldn’t resist looking smug. HE had had a shock and suddenly, we were back in the frame.

For a while we had a lot of fun.

Then it DID all change. Two more newcomers muscled their way into our scene. We

I thought they were nasty pieces of work

couldn’t argue. Their ‘Predator-like’ approach wasn’t to be tangled with. They were tough-looking, mean ‘son of a b…..’ fighters and I had my lady to look after. We spent many a cold month in the shed. idling our time away the best way we knew, it was still fun after all these years. We felt slightly relieved in fact, a sort of resting period. So we didn’t object to be left on the shelf, well, hanging off it.

We both realised our time was running out. I was still mad on my partner so just being next to her was good. So it came as a bit of a surprise when we found ourselves back on the old bag and off into the cold morning, recently. There was a feeling of being a bit out of practice, but HE seemed happy, going it alone on this occasion (HE had rarely been so bold).

Looking down the tricky grooves

The familiar ridge was cold and snowy, but HE quickly despatched the harder section, hooking us with glee into the steep cracks, and on the summit, crossing over to the way off, he put me away and concentrated on using her to go down the steep snow. I remember HE stopped for some drinks out of his flask at the bottom, and seemed to be peering at the cliff face, although I couldn’t see a thing in that thick clag. Although it was still fairly early, HE didn’t seem to want to push it any more, and sliding her down the side straps on the other side of me, HE wandered off down the good track and back to the car.

I never noticed she had gone. All I recall is being tossed quickly into the boot of his car, and we were soon racing up the A9 and back in the shed. There seemed to be some consternation? I gasped when I realised what HE was telling his wife. “I’ve lost my axe. I must have lost it on the way down”.

I was completely distraught. My one and only love for over twenty years, maybe

I felt so lonely

longer, had gone. All I could do was hang limply from the shelf and cry. It was a horrible night. I realised HE was trying everything to get her back. A good friend of his had a great website that people used to read often, and my lady’s disappearance was published.

Next morning I wanted to die. The first few waking hours were so painful, but by mid-morning, something was happening? HE was so excited, dancing around joyfully. I heard him tell his wife, “The website has paid off. It’s been found! ”

I almost fell off my hook with joy. She wasn’t gone!

Sure enough, a few hours later, she was back, right next to me, I was so happy.

They are a strange bunch, these humans who throw us at that white stuff so aggressively, but I have to say I don’t really care anymore. Thanks to that website and the kindness and thought of the other human, she and I are together again.

And it does look like we will be relaxing for even more of those cold days, because another two newcomers from France, (Nomics or something like that), seem to have taken his fancy.

Those French lads

Good luck to him and to them. My lady and I are happy to chill.

I was so lonely

I’ve been inside all day, when I should have been driving back down to Aviemore and searching for my lost axe. I’d already asked my friend and colleague Alan Kimber of  ’West Coast Mountain Guides’, Fort William, to put something out on his daily blog about my missing axe, thinking, you never know, and sure enough, he did.

Thanks so much Alan, for your efforts paid off. Bill from ‘Scotch on the Rocks’ was returning from Sneachda as it was geting dark last night and spotted my axe in the snow (not the car park where I thought I’d lost it)!

Welcome home

It’s a great example of our small world, full of really great people. I’m putting away the beer money right now. Happy Christmas Alan, and Bill. I owe you.

What a christmas present!