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One pitch to go
Re-enlightenment: Before China, one of my great passions was winter climbing in Scotland. It's been a long time since I last enjoyed the mixed pleasures of a day on the hill in full winter conditions: ice, powder snow, spindrift avalanches, freezing hands and the ever-present fear of failure or benightment. So I dug my kit out of the attic and discovered a couple of rusty ice-axes in the garage. No sign of the crampons (they must be in Aberdeen) so I borrowed a set from Lesley's stepdad, David, along with a headtorch. This latter item  proved very useful later. Alec was keen to climb in a fairly nearby mountain range called the Fannichs. We settled on a long mountaineering route called "The Resurrection" on the wild NE Face of Sgurr Mor (1110m), about an hour's drive from Craiglea, where we're staying.

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Launching off up the initial ice pitch.
Suffering: The walk-in proved to be a relatively painless and sociable 3 hours, but finding the start of the route turned out to be quite tricky in the cloudy conditions. Thanks to some splendid map-and-compass work by Alec, along with judicious use of the altimeter, we found ourselves under the cliff in roughly the right place. Looking upwards all we could see was swirling mist and the ghostly outlines of steepening craggy bits.

After a leisurely gearing-up session during which the cloud refused to budge we eventually set off up a likely looking ice-fall. I made sure Alec led the awkward-looking Grade 4 icy ramp-line as my 9-year layoff from ice-climbing was making its presence felt on my psyche. It wasn't so much the technical difficulty, but the feeling of unfamiliarity with the situation was playing with my nerves. On top of that I had failed to find my trusty "Dachstein" woolly mitts in the attic and was relying on an inferior glove combination to keep my hands warm. Result: frozen digits on the first pitch followed by a nausea-inducing bout of painful 'hot aches' at the belay as the blood returned to the capilliaries. The second pitch (which I generously offered to Alec to lead) was a full 50m runout of more (thankfully secure) ice, leading to the first of the route's two huge snowfields. By this time I was over my moment of suffering and thoroughly enjoying myself.

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Photo copyright AK 2010
Epiphany: Here the character of the climb changed completely and we experienced the most wonderful and sudden moment of realisation as the clouds parted for a brief couple of minutes to reveal the huge open face above us, pristine white rimed cliffs separated by icefalls and topped by drooling cornices againt a blue sky. Quickly we traced a line of least resistance up to the final headwall before the clouds, which had been boiling around below us in the corrie, rolled upwards and enveloped the mountain again.

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Heading for the top, high on the face.
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The final grovel over the cornice onto the summit
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The summit - 4.15pm
Resurrection: The lower icefall pitches had taken some time, so it was late in the day when I belayed some 20m below the cornice at the first decently secure belay - a wire in a heavily excavated crack - that we had found on the entire face (see first photo at top of this entry). The previous 450m had been protected by ice screws, dodgy spikes, hopeful pegs and the last resort of axepicks in frozen turf. Alec's final pitch of the day took him over the cornice to this sound belay directly round the summit cairn of the mountain. Success!

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Note the iced up hair quiff
Crucifiction: After the euphoria of escaping from the face all we had to do now was get down. More exacting compass work from Alec led us over another mountain (Beinn Liath Mhor Fannaich) via an atmospheric sunset where the light finally went and we dug the torches out. By now we were pretty much out of the cloud and we trundled slowly down the mountain on helpful snow to the dark depths of the glen below and the approach track. Here my feet (in too small, ancient boots) were feeling the effects of the last few hours of step bashing and I was just complaining about the pain in my toes when the sole of one boot popped off at the toe. Great - an excellent excuse to buy a new pair! All that remained was half a mile of Basil Fawlty-style one-legged goose-stepping and I was back at the car. A good day out.

Paul
26/1/2010 06:48:52 pm

Bloody Hell Ali! Sounds like a nightmare!!

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3/12/2010 09:16:15 am

The truth is cruel, but it can be loved, and it makes free those who have loved it.

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