Hogmanay 2000

A personal look back over the Year, and the Final Day. It was December, the final day of the year 2000.

It had been a memorable year for me from both the skiing and mountaineering point of view. There had been a March visit to Spokane with skiing at resorts in Idaho, Montana and across the Canadian border in British Columbia. On returning home, visits to the CIC on the Ben and to Ling Hut in Torridon had been followed by early summer trips for long hillwalks in the Islands and the North West. As usual, summer rock climbing in Scotland was often weather affected but there had been some special days on Garbh Bheinn, Ardnamurchan and Glencoe when rock was warm to the touch and the sun shone from a clear blue sky. Summer had eventually faded into autumn but for me there had been lots more to look forward to with a November trip to the Vinson Massif in Antarctica!

The long journey south occupied a longer time than planned but had ultimately been successful with the ascent of the highest point on the most southerly continent. The trip to Antarctica would remain in my memory as far more than a journey to a new location to climb another mountain, but rather as a pilgrimage to the place I had read about in books describing Ernest Shackleton’s journeys of exploration. By the time I returned to Scotland, snow had fallen, winter had arrived and under three weeks of the old year remained. An ascent of the Sron na Lairigridge in Glencoe the week before Christmas and some wintry days on nearby Corbetts during the snowy spell between Christmas and New Year whetted my appetite for the winter climbing prospects ahead.

Over the New Year holiday period we were based on the shores of Loch Awe within an hours drive of many good areas so there was considerable discussion the night before as to what was best for a day out on Hogmanay. The final choice was for Beinn Udlaidh since this was closest at hand, offered a short approach to the climbs, and with a poor afternoon forecast, a relatively easy retreat. Many of the year’s memories occupied me as I walked into Beinn Udlaidh that morning and the time passed easily despite the weight of a winter sack. Over twenty other cars were parked at the roadside and once we were in the corrie, it was clear that on most of the ice climbs that had formed, there was at least one party already at work. The wind was rising too, indicating that the forecast deterioration in the weather seemed to be arriving sooner rather than later. Our party of four closed in on the crags and found shelter behind one of the large corrie boulders to have a bite and decide what to do. Since Valerie and Steve were concerned that the easier routes could be avalanche prone, they indicated that they would probably settle for a circuit of the corrie taking in the summit cairn and make their own way to Bridge of Orchy afterwards.

This left Mark and myself to make our route choice. From our vantage point in the corrie, the main area around Quartzvein Scoop offered the best looking ice and indeed the party on that route appeared to be moving up steadily. We headed up taking in a detour to inspect the attractive looking South Gully of the Black Wall, before traversing to the foot of Quartz vein Scoop. Here we met a pair of climbers who had abandoned Zig Zag Gully, the grade 2 to the left. Their retreat had been due to insufficient ice on the route and they were about to head back down after a brief stop to munch their sandwiches. Upon Quartzvein Scoop, the party we had seen earlier from the corrie below had topped out but a second party was on the main icefall pitch. Since the ice appeared to be well formed with the promise of good protection under the steeper and narrower upper section, we geared up and awaited our turn. Mark headed up from the belay climbing the steep ice steadily and confidently. The ice was not of uniform consistency and needed some care when moving up the steeper sections or placing protection. Nevertheless, he was enjoying the sharp precision of his newly acquired axes although he had to keep his head down from time to time to avoid the bits of ice coming down from the party above. Meanwhile, at the foot of the icefall, I was well protected to the left being sheltered beneath a small roof which deflected most of the falling ice, so patiently waited my turn.

After a considerable wait, a shout and the well accustomed tug came on the rope and I moved off. It was good to be on steep ice again but I regretted not sharpening my own axes to help me on the hard and sometimes brittle ice. Above the narrow upper section of the icefall, Mark was safely secured in a cave on the right and announced that he had decided to wait to allow the previous occupant to clear the belay before bringing me up. The way ahead led up to the left, onto a left trending ramp and then presumably to the top of the route. We agreed that with a possibly awkward cornice, a belay should be sought before such a hazard. This would allow the rope to be run out over the cornice exit comfortably with sufficient rope to reach the easy ground well back from the edge.

I set off from the security of the cave, and having placed an ice screw, headed up on to the ramp. The conditions here were deteriorating rapidly and away from the shelter of the cave, there was a whirlwind of spindrift everywhere and snow building up around me at an alarming rate. Each step upwards required a lot of snow to be swept off to find the secure snow ice beneath and I became ever more aware of the precarious position I was in. Ahead, I made out a lump in the snow and once there thankfully drove a warthog into turf adjacent to the buried rock. This gave me the confidence to continue up and I spotted the signs of another rock a further few feet away. I was starting to explore the ground around the rock with my right axe with a view to putting in further protection, when with a low muffled sound, everything seemed to started moving around me.

For several seconds, snow poured everywhere, and thinking I had been swept away, I waited for the thump of being brought to rest by the rope or of hitting something on the way falling back down the route. There was nothing however and, as the snow cleared around me, I found I was hanging by my left axe a short distance beneath my rock. I had clearly brought the upper snow slope down on top of me by probing around the rock and had been saved by my left axe which I had instinctively driven in a few seconds before. As I tried to regain my stance, I realised that my left foot was not obeying commands and was incapable of taking any weight after the front points were driven in. It was now essential that I make myself safe by securing some sort of belay since my ankle was clearly damaged in some way. I found that by kicking in with my right foot and then shuffling up onto the heel of my left foot, I could regain some security beside the rock and set to work on the belay. Two driven warthogs plus a driven axe and I prepared to bring Mark up.

The spindrift relented a little as Mark approached the warthog placement at the first rock and I warned him of my predicament. The look of disbelief coupled with possible irritation at the time he had waited, changed to one reflecting the seriousness of our position. He had seen the avalanche come down from the security of the cave and had thought initially I might have been completely swept off. During the time that the avalanche had taken to pass, the cave had gone quite dark as if a great dark curtain had been draped across it but he had been relieved when light was restored that the rope still curved upwards onto the ramp. He now removed the warthog and without questioning my assertions that the belay was secure, moved below and to the left of where I was belayed. Here the snow appeared less steep and we hoped an exit could be made without further incident. After placing a further warthog drive in, he moved cautiously on to the unconsolidated snow above. Gradually I paid out the ropes as Mark edged towards safety until he finally disappeared from view onto the open hillside above. The ropes ran out quickly as a belay was reached and the muffled call to follow came down through the storm. The belay I had constructed with the warthogs was reassuringly difficult to remove and I set off towards the top. The ropes dug into the snow as I moved up the unconsolidated snow and frequently I had to flick them clear to enable Mark to take in and protect my own slow progress. Finally, I was over the top and safe at the belay. By now it was nearly dark, there was a full bore storm in progress and our problems were clearly far from over.

We packed away the gear plus one of the ropes and decided on a traverse to clear the crags followed by a descent of what should be a straightforward ridge. This would bring us down to near the edge of the forest from where we would have to find the track back to the road. We kept a short rope between us for most of the descent and on a number of occasions were glad of its security, as benign looking snow slopes beneath us proved to be unstable traps, forcing us to take long detours. Progress over rough ground and boulders was slow as I hobbled along with the help of my ski poles but on easier gentle slopes I could almost keep up a respectable pace. During breaks in the storm it was possible to see some of the ground ahead and periodically we checked our position on the map. Finally we reached the lower section of the ridge and could make out the forest edge, an isolated cottage and far beyond the line of the glen. We removed our crampons and harnesses, packed them away and enjoyed a few minutes rest during which we had something to eat and drink to prepare ourselves for the next section. This part of the descent proved the worst for both of us. After following the fence at the forest edge for what seemed an eternity, sometimes up to our waists in new snow, the fence then headed back up the hillside! The snow became even deeper and we decided to turn back on our tracks. We then crossed the fence into the forest plantation, which at this point was relatively open but crossed by many furrows and ditches hidden by the blanket of snow. Eventually, we made our way down a firebreak and after a further traverse through the trees recognised the burn coming down from the corrie. After crossing to the other side we were able to find the track leading down to the farm and the road beyond. The descent had taken 3½ hours but it had been completed without incident and as far as I could tell without further damage to my ankle.

All the other cars had gone and there was no sign of the others waiting for us at the roadside. A note at the car advised us they had taken a lift to Bridge of Orchy and would see us there. To help us, they had already put on the snow chains so the final return leg of our journey began. At Bridge of Orchy, there were no signs of life but a further note on the closed door directed us to Tyndrum and a successful rendezvous with Valerie and Steve who were relieved to see us, particularly when we gave them our account of the day. They had wisely decided against doing a climb themselves and had completed the circuit of the corrie as planned. They also confirmed the rapid deterioration in the conditions as they started to descend in the afternoon presumably coincident with the time we had run into difficulties on the upper part of our route. We all headed back to Loch Awe to celebrate the end of the old year and welcome in the new. I was again left with my memories as I sipped a dram after the bells heralded in the New Year.

The final piece of my year 2000 jigsaw was indeed in place but not as I had ever intended. The last day of the year would also determine what I would be able to do in the weeks and months ahead. Two days later, my ankle showed no signs of improvement and a visit to Vale of Leven followed by a second visit to Paisley Royal Alexandra Hospital confirmed my suspicions of a ruptured Achilles tendon.

The New Year would start with ten weeks in plaster and a long period of recuperation.

Brian S