GUMC Journal 2009

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GUMC Journal 2009


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Contents

Committee 2Award Holders 2009 2El Presidentes Bit 3Editorial 5Arran 6GUMClub ClothingBugger the Weekend - Go for a Week! 10Alps Journal 12Alps - Summer of 2008 15

Without the Club and the Mountains... 18Mountains in the Mind 26Old Man of Hoy 27Photos 34Twll Tin Mochyn Daear 40Camping Trip to Arran 41Newtonmore Acess 46MWIS Forecast - NewtonmoreI Had the Time of my Life, And I Owe it All to You 50Torridon 51What Winter Climbing IsAllAbout 53Risk 54How to Injure Yourself 58They Say Things Come in Threes... 61Benighted on the Ben 64Many Years Ago Now... 67

Page background design - Mike RycroftFront cover - Kat TorrInside Back Cover - Geoff CooperBack cover - Stewart Whiting


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This year has been a great way to end my time inthe GUM Club. Although I was advised to delegateto ease the stress of the presidency its been a busybut denitely rewarding nish. What an opportunity

though, with 12 other committee members to dothings for you especially those naive ones whowere new to it!

During last summer I enjoyed my rst trip to the Alps,

initially getting to grips with the basics by joining aConville course and then joining the others to venture

off on our own routes. The sheer size and volume ofthe Alpine expanse was mind-boggling and Im keento get back.

New guys welcome to the GUM Club journal!Luckily the Freshers meet hasnt scared too manyof you away. The rain on Saturday and sunshine onSunday gave a good idea of what Scotland has instore for us. Unlike the Freshers meet all that followwill be, well, not quite tame, but less manic! Theinput of new members at the start of every year andthroughout keeps the club on its toes. This year myaim has been to push the committee to try out newthings but also not lose sight of what the club doesbest.

Ive had some good days out in the hill this year despite the wet and windyweather that predominated for many of the meets. Reiff is something you have

to experience for yourself. Then theres the experience of joining twenty-sevenfreshers on Buichelle Etive Beag. Or ski touring on powder up on Cairn Gorm andunder brilliant sunshine. And we had similar weather for the Aonoch Eagach ridgeand a ne day in Stob Coire an Lochan (although tiring!)

I would like to think that although the weather hasnt been as we would have likedfor some (or maybe a lot) of the time, we have achieved a huge amount. Dedicated

to the early hours and lack of sleep the troops are ever eager to go out in searchof a good day. With the year ticking by Im looking forward to welcoming in a newcommittee and getting out to enjoy the rock!

El Presidentes BitCommittee

PresidentVice President

SecretaryTreasurer

Assistant TreasurerGear Secretary

TransportHut Custodian

Assistant Hut CustodianWeb Monkey

Safety Co-ordinator

Journal EditorCompetitions Secretary

Kat TorrStewart WhitingCathy MacIverDanielle EwbankJonnie WilliamsAdam CouvesJamie NicholsonThom SimmonsTom SmithStuart ReevesCallum Taylor

Jo ClementsEmily Ward

Award Holders 2009

Climber of the Year:Thom Simmons

Golden Boot:San Richards

Drinker of the Year:Milly Hodnett

Special Achieve-ment Award:Cathy MacIver


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Editorial

I have spent most of this moring doubled up in tears of laughter as I began readingthis years Journal submissions. I have laughed so much at articles such asHannahs guide to sustaning an injury, and Graemes account of defending his tentfrom armies of invading slugs that the Journal very nearly didnt get edited at all!Not all of the articles are funny of course, and from climbing to walking to drinkingthe Journal covers all GUMClub activities in all their glory.

Thanks must go to all who have written articles, poems etc. and taken pictures, andto all those who have undertaken various GUMClub-related activities so that theycould be written about (its a hard job but someones got to do it).

The main purporse of this editorial is to announce the promised PRIZE...a glitteringbottle of Glenddich 12 year old (tra ta taaa!)

It should be noted at this point that, sadly, no bribes were received from any ofthe authors. The only bribe offered, in fact, was from someone who hadnt evenwritten an article! The article which made me laugh the most was Cathy Macsquotes compilation, but I wasnt sure that Cathy could really claim all the creditfor the genius contained therein, and a 70cl bottle between all the people quotedseemed a highly unsatisfactory solution. Other close contenders were StewartsNewtonmore forecast and clothing order form, and Jonnies account of soloing inSouth America, but in the end the PRIZE goes to.....

... Welsh Tom for his hilarious avoidance of any innuendo in his account of theascent of Lockwoods Chimney.

All spelling mistakes, punctuation errors are, of course, solely the responsibility ofthe various authors and are retained to add local colour, atmosphere etc. Nothingto do with me anyhow

It has been great fun editing the Journal and I hope that you enjoy reading it asmuch as I have!

Jo Clements

On our social calendar this year we saw the arrival of the GUM Clubs rst Subcrawl- with little warning the costumes were lacking but the elite were there in fulldrinking force! The Heason lecture series saw both the public and GUM clubbersgather to soak up the talents of Dave Graham, The Real Rock Tour and ChrisSharma. Although the organisational side of these events was a little stressful Idlike to think it was worth the effort. The clubs never short of a social event: therehave been the ceilidhs, the pub crawl, numerous excuses to don fancy dress andone shouldnt forget the consumable-based gatherings! And watch this space forthe return of the Scottish Unis Bouldering Competition.

Id like to offer a massive thank-you to the minibus drivers about whom I can safelysay (without being laughed at - you denitely werent laughing with me) that without

them, the club would struggle to work as well as it does. And nally a thank-you to the

executive committee who collectively dressed me up to look totally ridiculous pink,uffy and PVC is just me but Im now immune to almost all things embarrassing!

I can only use this opportunity to touch on a few of the more memorable momentsof this past year. Our very own Journaliste Extraordinaire, Jo, has collated your ne

pieces to remind us of some of the best bits of 08-09. Thank you for a brilliant yearand please read on

Katt Torr


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describes him as a polite youngchap. We manage to nd the

campsite, pitch the tent, cooksome dinner and go to sleep.

The next day was gloriously drizzly,but boldly we set off to conquerGoat Fell (up the back route and

then down the tourist path). At

the saddle (450m) we stop for

lunch and meet two walkers fromEdinburgh. We tell them our plans.The weather is too bad. I dontthink you should (for were girls

and are therefore useless and may

die...). I reassure them that weremembers of the GUM Club andexperienced walkers and set off.

The weather was typically Scottish,extremely rainy and foggy, but withminimal wind. We have a good walkwith some interesting rock climbingmoments when we loose the exact path to the fog. (hmm Im not sure were supposed

to be on top of this rocky outcrop....). We reach the top of the hill (emphasis on the

word HILL) and head down into Brodick, where being rather damp we decide to stop

off for some dinner and a pint of Arran ale before heading back to the campsite.

About 50m from the campsite, just having turned on the head torch and aroundabout twenty to ten a police van pulls up.Were you girls out walking today? YesDid you meet some guys on the saddle? Yes

Well they called mountain rescue.

What I experienced over the next few minutes was acute embarrassment mixedwith guilt for the poor Arran mountain rescue crew who had just had their Sundaynight unnecessarily interrupted. Luckily the police had thought to check the pubsbefore the lamest rescue mission in history was deployed. We heard you were inthe McClaren but we couldnt work out why you would ever go there. Apparentlyits the Ned pub of Brodick.

We sat in the back of their van and gave our personal details, whilehaving some classic chat with the boys in blue. Highlights include:Im just upset I didnt get to see my rst mountain rescue (for apparently no-one

It was the GUM Club meet that never was. While the club decided to headsouth in search of sunnier times, my friend Martha and I decided to brave thebad weather and stick with the original plan of a relaxing camping trip on Arran.The meet to Arran the year previously had been the scene of a memorablecomedy error on behalf of Adam, Karen and Clemmie who got lost looking forthe campsite, eventually arrived in the dark and the rain, only to discover theyhad forgotten their tent poles. Turns out Martha and I were about to top that.

It started to go wrong before we left Glasgow. Having nished my exams the

day before, I woke up feeling like I had been hit repeatedly by a truck. Its goingno better for Martha who phones to tell me, Theres mould on my rucksack.

A few hours later I sit down in a hung-over heap on the oor of central stationand hear a horric sound, riiiipppp. I had split my only pair of walking trousers.

Suddenly questioning the number of Maltesers I consumed during the examperiod, I made a mad underwear ashing dash across Central Station to nd a

needle and thread. With that mission accomplished and supposedly safely onboardthe train, Martha asks, Is this the right train? I reply Of course it is. Oh no itisnt, turns out that platform 11a is not the same as platform 11. We sprint to thecorrect train, overloaded back packs and all. By this point my head is pounding,I feel sick and Arran seems like the stupidest idea I have had in a long time.

By the time we board the retro Cali Mac ferry I am back in favour of the Arran

Arran

idea. We arriveon Arran tomagnum eatingweather. Wemeet the onlyGUM clubberwe would see

all weekend,Richard. Heinforms usthat the rainstopped anhour beforeour arrival andoddly refrainsfrom anylth related

chat. Martha


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gets rescued off Goat Fell, in fact I was starting to suspect that Arran mountainrescue consisted of whoever in the pub was not too drunk and could be bothered.)

Oh well it could be worse, whatever happens youve denitely pulled and my

personal favourite, by the way your tent collapsed. I think this probably added to theimpression of incompetence. I imagine somewhere there is a police report with thewords, the girls were found alive and well if a little embarrassed and moderately drunk.

We arrived back into the campsite to nd that the tent had indeed collapsed in on

itself, apparently unable to take a small six hour rainstorm. As I am not incompetent,(despite the impression I clearly give off), all our important stuff had been wrapped

in bin liners. We mop out and resurrect the tent, having declined the offer fromour rescuers to sleep in their porch. The last thing said before we go to sleepwas the immensely comforting, It only has to stay up for another seven hours.

The next day was uneventful in comparison. We lay about in the roasting sun,drank cider and swam in the river. I think there was more ice cream. However theArran story was not over yet. Two weeks after our adventures I was informed wehad become stars of the internet, with our own thread on UKClimbing. The guyswho phoned mountain rescue desired to contact us, and in an attempt to avoidembarrassment for either of us had left a cryptic message for the girls from GlasgowUniversity who they met in Arran to please get in touch. This had prompted manycalls for an explanation and the suggestion that Its clear that a bit of hide thesausage went on here. I leave the concluding comment to Martha, my partner incomedy, What is hide the sausage?

Judith Scarborough

StewartWhiting


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re down in one of the nearby sheltered coves. On one night, a certain young man of

boat-club fame was wearing shorts and, despite his rather hirsute legs, was nding

it quite cold down in the cove. Obviously he could always sit closer to (practically

in?) the re but then there was the issue of sparks, which were plentiful at times,

making for an amusing spectacle as he danced and swore enthusiastically.

Having manufactured a workingprototype the previous year, Mike and John arrivedtooled up with an 8ft cannon made from drainpipes, the details of which wouldmake a whole other story. The cannon had been carefully designed to re a padded

out beer can over a few metres and worked rather well, apart from the piezoelectricignition system failing to re and John consequently burning his hand. However, at

a certain point the true potential of this beast was discovered and we realised thatit could, in fact, launch a tennis ball up to 50m! Then the fun really started andended three shots later with the loss of the ball into the boggy ground behind thecamp! This year we have a better ignition system and well have plenty of tennisballs!

Richard is a lthy beast!

He also owns a puntHe poles his way across the town

And folks shout What a lovely young man!

This is, at least the rst and last lines, nothing more than a statement of well known

fact. However, something new for me was the fact that his brother, Pete, is arguablyjust as bad or perhaps even a little worse, since he is more subtle in his delivery ofobscenity. In the car, on the hill and around camp, the Lowdon brothers providedexceptional lthy banter in glorious stereo!

Fishy action and I dont just mean the catching and eating of sh! It was actually

quite hard to sh out enough for dinner; there were plenty of mackerel aroundbut their minds were on the higher purpose of reproduction. Boiling masses ofspawning sh could be seen moving around the inlets, with a constant escort of

seals and other predators. However, being unable (or at least unwilling) to swim

into the mass of sh and grab one between our teeth, the most successful method

of shing for us turned out to involve throwing the most hook-laden selection of

tackle we could nd into the middle of the frothing shy orgy and then jerking hard

through the water, thus snagging one or two of the unsuspecting revellers on ourhooks. The real challenge though, was to get the sh safely back to the campsite

and cooked before Richard, the recently disclosed pisco-necrophile, could have hisevil way with them and in such a worthy publication as this, the less said aboutthat the better!

Go for a Week!Bugger the Weekend -

Anecdotes from Reiff 2008

Everyone told me that Reiff was a magic place. For several years I had gone upfor one or both weekends, sometimes even driving the minibus the whole way(fuelled on redbull). Other times, driving with co-drivers who made such terrifying

manoeuvres on the A9 that Id have been quite prepared to drive alone or walk! Idenjoyed my time up north, but it had always been too short. Last year, I was exiledto the hill-less and geographically barren waste-lands of The Netherlands and myneed for mountains was strong. I was also endowed with an awesome amount ofavailable holiday, or perhaps (and quite probably) I simply didnt understand the

Dutch online holiday booking system and took far too much. Either way, I was

comfortably able to take the whole week off to come back to Scotland for the Reiffexperience. Having decided that this was going to be a properholiday for me, Iallowed myself the luxury of a hire-car for the week. Ive hired quite a few differentcars over the years and I have to say this was one of the best; a brand new Ford

Focus. It was comfortable, with more than enough space for mine and Richardsgear, good air-conditioning and cruise control added to the luxury aspect and ohheck yes, it was fast :-)

There was so much going on that if I was to try and write a complete account of theweek, it would run to tens of pages. What follows here is a short account of someof the more memorable moments:

There are no showers at the campsite. There were showers to be found in Ullapoolbut I didnt bother with them. Instead, every couple of days (whether it was required

or not) we went swimming in shallow lochs since these were often pleasantly warm,

either by Stac Pollidh or just above Reiff, to keep from ponging too much. We didalso venture into the sea a few times, in various states of insobriety and undress,but this was certainly too cold for sober washing activities. For some individuals

(The Brothers Filth) who came to watch, but not to join in, with the drunken skinny-dipping, I suspect that the frigidity of the water was appreciatedon some levels.

Pie (and yes, it is one crucial step on the path to enlightenment) of great quality is

to be found along the road at Lochinver. When asked if I was really going to drive25 miles for a pie, for the second time in three days, the answer was a clear yes,and since I believe three pies were actually consumed, the trip was fully justied as

far as Im concerned! Apparently they even do online mail-order dangerous!

Beach res are an integral part of the Reiff experience and are the social hub in the

evenings where you can keep warm, cook your sh and dry yourself when youve

been in the sea. This year was no exception, and most evenings, there was a good


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By 1930 hours the slugs held several key locations including water tap andrubbish bin. At this point, I realised the grave peril I was in I would be fortunateto survive to the safety of nightfall with the rate I was losing ground.

Thankfully I remembered the wise council of Sun Tzu. He who knows when he canght and when he cannot will be victorious. And of course as Caesar said, Men at

times are masters of their fates. Combining this with the teachings of Confucius,When you do have faults, do not fear to abandon them, and ignoring Sophoclesquick decisions are unsafe decisions I organised an immediate retreat that wouldfocus the enemys attack on a single narrow pass. Garrisoning this location, Iawaited the advent of the enemy. It was only when the sun nally set that I knew

the incessant onslaught would nally abate.

Day 9

By the morning, only a single slug assassin had made it into my tent. He was dealtwith accordingly.

Leaving the slugs in my wake, I climbed up to an alpine hut Caban du Bovine.There was a herd of cows grazing nearby and a dog that would growl at themwhenever they came close to the hut. The pack horse also kept rolling on its backand that would send the dog into a frenzy running over the top of the tables. Andall I wanted was to have my lunch in peace. I had the last of my cheese today too;

I cant let myself be distracted.

A fairly steep descent was then followed by a shallow river crossing and a decentforest path dropped into Champex-en-Lac.

Day 10I left Champex fairly late and walked along country lanes to Sembrancher atown with no shops, apparently. Graeme had wanted an ice cream. Graeme wasdisappointed.

Walking to Le Chable, it started to rain again. This days walking was througheveryday Switzerland according to the guide book. This apparently consists ofgravel pits.

That night, I bivied on a hill outside of Le Chable. The site was steep, but I got agood few hours sleep.

Day 11I woke up in the morning and picked up my boots. After the snake that had sleptthe night in one (the left) had slithered away, I took stock of the situation. According

to a well-respected zoologist within the club, the snake was probably highly

It should be noted that in between all the shing, cannon shooting, lth, pies,

alcohol, re and male-bonding activities, we did actually climb quite a few hills. This

gave us some great views of the Summer Isles and nearby mountains, as well asproviding ample appetite and excuse for the activities listed above!

The campsite at Achnahaird Bay is unfortunately now closed. I dont know exactlyhow long this had been a regular GUMC xture, certainly it was a strong tradition

and it will be sorely missed. I am very glad to have managed to get out there for awhole week before the closure since I dont think I quite understood the magic ofReiff until Id done so. Going for a weekend just wasnt long enough to really getinto the atmosphere of the place, hence the title of this article. This year there arealready various plans for an alternative (some even try to say replacement) location

and it currently looks like the club will go to Gairloch. It is not Reiff. It will not replaceReiff for me. But, Im sure it will be a great week and may well become a tradition

in its own right!Geoff Cooper

Alps Journal

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns

Day 7 (The rst 6 were boring you missed nothing.)

Thunder and lightning. I ran back through Chamonix as the rain grew heavier, havingwalked Thom to the train station with his kit. I arrived at the campsite as the rain waspouring down. Down and into the open door of my tent. Damn. Everything importantwas in bags, but the toilet roll will have to go.

Day 8And so it begins I would be heading east along the Walkers Haute.

t was drizzling all morning, but at least the walking wasnt too bad. I passed Argentiereand reached Le Tour by lunchtime. After avoiding the joyriding quad-bikers (ignore

hem, they dont reappear in the story) I made it into Switzerland. I set up my forward

camp in Col de la Forclaz.

At 1800 hours I made rst contact with the enemy. The rst slug recon group was

spotted on the northern frontier, just past the stove. In the initial skirmishes I heldmy ground and even forced the slugs back slightly. However, this early assault wasmerely a feint designed to distract me from the anking manoeuvre opening up the

western front. Whilst my stove and I could hold off waves of slugs to the north, myent to the west would remain largely unprotected.


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Graeme Stewart

This article was just going to be a chronicle of success, the way I remember the trip.I pulled out my diary and started reading over what we did in July and August.Not surprisingly though, my memory is different than what actually occurred. Thetrip was still a success, something I would repeat this summer if it wasnt for lack oftime and money. However it was a success comprised of what was mainly a seriesof failures. These failures were at the time, exciting, exasperating or just a bit daft.Since repeated success is just as boring as repeated failure, to maintain enjoymentin climbing youve got to mess up on occasion.

In reality the title of this article should have a side heading for the readers sake:The Alps 2008 How to get lost repeatedly, in dramatic scenery.

Instead of giving a plain day-by-day account of what happened this summer (that

would be far too dull) Ill just cherry pick the best bits from the trip; I doubt people

want long descriptions of what its like to sit in a tent in the rain, reading a book.Mountaineering has moved on a bit since the days of tweed, and we join it from allforms of activities these days. My training for the holiday consisted of spending theweek before the Alps bouldering in Fontainebleau. So as long as these mountainswerent any bigger than 10 metres, and we had sufcient supplies of bouldering

mats, I should cope quite well. However endurance training wasnt wholly omitted;

over 24 hours were spent on the coaches between London and Paris, and thenParis and Chamonix. Surviving the harsh environment of Eurolines Coach Stationin Paris prepared me for any Alpine situation.

Finally I arrived in Chamonix and met up with everyone else (Tom, Emily, Kat and

Barnyard). It was time for the Alps trip to begin, Kat had just nished her Conville

course and everyone else had been in the Alps before so I felt fully condent in our

alpine skills for our rst days activity: cragging. Off to Valorcine we went and it was

time for me to show my particular skills in going wildly off route. Not in a large scale

form of What mountain am I on again?, but more like playing with the details ofa route, heading up a nice 5+ sport route and deciding that nice and introductoryit may be, it was still a bit dull. After careful consultation with Kat, I followed acompletely different, massively more interesting route on our left. It was such animprovement, even Tom decided to join us on it for a few bolts (as he had also

gone for the more exciting looking climb slightly off his route, only to discover it wasexciting due to its lack of protection and holds).

Now the acclimatisation to the alpine environment was sorted, the next day wedecided to head up the Montenvers railway to the Mer de Glace glacier. With stormsforecast we hid under boulders at the start, but deciding it would be ne we pressed

on through the arduous path of ladders, roped banisters and arrows painted on

dangerous and would probably have killed [me].

I then walked from Les Ruinettes into the scree eld that is the Col de la Chaux.

During one particularly steep descent I had to drop my bag down it ahead of me.Thankfully, my tent survived with only supercial damage. If only my stove had

been quite as robust.

Progress was slow as the rain and then hail came on. I met three lawyers and anarchitect (theres a joke in there somewhere) at the nal col before arriving at the

Hut Mont Fort.

Day 12The morning dawned with brilliant clear skies. I walked along Lake Dix to theCabane Dix where I had a cheese sandwich for lunch. It was going to be a goodday. I crossed the glacier then climbed the ladders before beginning the long

descent into Arolla with only my blisters for company.

Day 14When in Visp and deciding where to pitch your tent, you may be tempted to pitch itin a rather picturesque setting surrounded by fruit trees. Dont. Fruit will fall fromthe trees at regular intervals throughout the day and night causing the ground tovibrate. Youll then think to yourself, Im hungry, lets have an apple. The waspsthat had had that same thought a few minutes earlier than you will then swarm outof the apple and around you. Save yourself the hassle dont camp in Visp.

Day 18Woke up in Tasch to discover a bird in my tent. This one, unfortunately, was smalland feathered. The third week involved lots of mountain climbing but fewer fauna-related incidents. And everyone seems to do mountains around here.

Alps - Summer of 2008

Geoff Cooper


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walk round to the right. Kat and I came to the Alps for excitement and challenge, sowe went up the snow gully which during late July was more slush, loose rocks andfragile ice. After almost taking Kat out with a boulder we decided that it would makemore sense to go for the snowy walk.

We got a bit lost and ended up the wrong side of the nal part of the ridge. After

a few exposed moves we nally corrected ourselves and ended up in the station

at the top. Returning to the tents we expected to see a confused Tom and Emilywondering why we took so long but instead they were still two black dots over ontheir route, having even less success than we did. Whilst I dont know whether wecan say we did Cosmiques Arete properly, it was still one of the best experiencesfor me during that trip.

That evening a plan was made over instant noodles. We all still wanted to dosomething mountainous but were failing when too much climbing was involved;

it was time for something more straight forward and mountaineery, the Midi PlanTraverse. In attempting to nish this article at some point today, what will follow is

a very brief account of the traverse. Starting at about sunrise we headed from thetents to the traverse and again it was a case of following the exposed ridge downand across. We kept heading down until we hit the steep snow slope to take usback to the top. We kept on heading up, the lack of protection was balanced withhow there was No way anyone could fall on this (I hope). More walking, a few

abseils and a hell of a slog to the top later we were nally perched on the top of the

route.

As no one wanted to return back the way we had come we chose the more amiableoption of wandering through the glacier full of crevasses and seracs. After a shortamount of time of me as the crevasse detecting equipment (if I fell in, there was

a crevasse there) it made sense for Tom to lead the way. He did so brilliantly,

wandering through this collection of holes we managed to make it all the waythrough the glacier, never having to double back. The groups rst ice bollard was

cut, with the inspiring words of This should work, I havent done one before but it

should work and eventually we were out of the maze.

It was now just a matter of heading up the slope and back around to the campsite.I was back at the front and got to see how hard it was leading the group up a hill(with no convenient steps to place my feet in). Luckily it seemed the trend of getting

lost was over, and we made it back to the tents eventually (I had never felt as tired

as I did when the day was nished).

Eager to make the most of being up high, and taking advantage of her stamina(which was considerably more than mine), Kat decided a good plan for the next day

was for me and her to head up the Mont Blanc du Tacul. My legs complaints withthis plan were (mainly) kept to myself, and the next morning at ve we headed up

boulders pointing the way to the hut. In honesty I had no semblance of tness and

being unaccustomed to this aerobic exercise I was only able to press on out ofstubbornness and the comfort of knowing I could always pull out the asthma as anexcuse. Our bivvy spot that night was amazing, with clear skies and bright stars.Valorcine turned out to have been useful after all, as the plan for the next day wasa bolted multi-pitch slabby route.

We were situated quite close to the route, so it was only a brief slog to the start.Tom set off on the rst pitch and as each route was bolted on the lead it meant you

normally only get to clip right after the difcult part with the long run. I was on the

lead for the next pitch. Using a mix of short sightedness and idiocy, I lost the boltsand veered horribly off route into a bit of a choss fest. Clinging on to this loose rockI was reminded of its friable nature by a rock fall in the next couloir; seeing boulders

the size of transit vans falling down convinced me to down climb to where I waswarmly welcomed by a nice (previously unnoticed) line of unclipped bolts.

Luckily all things are relative, I may have made a bit of a mess on my pitch but thenext person to lead was Barnyard. Deciding that the best thing for a sport route issome trad gear placed well off to the side, he put in a large amount of effort tryingto aid his way up to the next bolt. At this point the clouds over our heads turned anasty shade of black and remembering the forecast for the day, we bailed. Its nottoo hard to imagine the slightly dejected look on Toms face, who had led the mostdifcult pitch with ease, only to be followed by climbers who messed up the simple

task of following bolts. The storm never came that afternoon, but in the eveningit made up for its tardiness. The following morning we headed back down to therailway and our campsite in Chamonix.

The rain stayed a few days and a few books were nished due to this. At the rst

sign of sunshine we (Tom, Emily, Kat and me) decided to head up the Tlphrique

de lAiguille du Midi. Unfortunately, the winds that had blown the storm away werestill going strong, the Tlphrique was closed and our plans had to be adjusted.

Heading up the following day was far more successful, from the station we walkedout the gate and down the very exposed ridge to the campsite. The tents were setup in the middle of a snow eld full of climbers and their temporary homes, and Kat

and I headed off for Cosmiques Arete. This time when we went off route it wasntmy fault, at least on the rst occasion. After following a French group for quite a

while we nally managed to pass them on the abseil point halfway along the route.

A lesson was learnt here: just because theyre French, and youre on a Frenchmountain, doesnt mean they know more than you do. We believed them whenthey changed our minds about how far you needed to abseil down, and so didntgo nearly far enough for the route. As a result we had a couple of interesting runout pitches to get back to the right place, and as soon as we did I took us promptlyoff route. The guidebook gave us a choice of left up an interesting snow gully, or a


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the mountain, following the head torches weaving their way up. With Kat leadingthe way, all I had to do was keep pace and take pictures of the sunrise (its not too

hard to get decent pictures of something that amazing). All Kat had to do was keep

on walking, and drop her Sigg into a crevasse (both were achieved with a particular

air). We sat on the top of the mountain and looked over the entire area; below us

the mists were being warmed and evaporated by the sun.

I could write about what happened next, between that moment and getting backon the coach. Theres not much I want to say though, we wandered back downthe mountain, packed up our tents and headed back into Chamonix. Kat and Emilywent back home and Stewart joined us. For the nal few days of my trip there was

cragging, my birthday and celebratory fondue. There was dry tooling and slackliningwith some Czechs. These were all just ways for the holiday to wind down to itsnatural end.

What I gained from this trip was realising the importance of failure. I wouldnt havefelt as satised with succeeding if I hadnt messed up a few times beforehand. I

also didnt learn nearly as much when everything went well as I did when parts ofplans didnt work. Of course its probably for the best that when youre back homeand comfortable, you have a selective memory of your trip, with all your successesdrawing you back out to have another go.

Calum Taylor

TAKE!!!!

* Conversation about quotes that turned into a rather good quote:Jesus: Ill have to talk to Geoff about transcribing the phone ngering

conversation.

* Some highlights from the subcrawl, particularly documenting SBs, not so

slow, descent into oblivion:Jonnie - We have to wait for Cathy Mac.SB - No, I dont think Cathy Mac is gay.

Anna - Im only 8 stone.Stewart - I can bench 8 stone on each arm and I dont even bench.

SB - New Zealanders remind me of the Irish, I think its the sheep.

Jonnie - What crag am I thinking of?SB - This cider has done my head.(actually it turned out to be the pavement that done her head.)

Pub Quiz, West Street - What can you look at but not touch?Answer- My next door neighbours tits.

SB song - Finland, Finland, etc...

Kat (while in a trolley): Ohlook, theres a blond ladyKat: Hello!Cathy Mac (deeper, sinister voice): Hello!

Without the Club...

Without the club and the mountains I just dont think this year would havehappened!

A Year of Quotes from the GUM Club: compiled by Cathy MacIver

* Judith to Cathy Mac: She went there to help people, not to get murdered!

* Jo & Stuart (amongst others) sitting around the Torridon hall after a wet

outing:

Stuart: So are you generally cold then?Jo: Im usually a cold person, except in bed.

* Cathy Mac and Louise on their expeditions:Cathy Mac (while walking past dead sheep, climbing over fences, searching for a

secluded place to camp):

Why does this always happen to us? We arent even drunk all the time; we

werent drunk at all in Slovakia and look what happened there!

Cathy Mac and Louise mid expedition.

* Jesus to Tall Pete:its in the Maddie bag

* Tall Petes thoughton a meet during a

particularly overlong

and wet climb:[Morning beforegoing climbing] Pete;

nonchalantly: Im notgoing to fall off a diff...[Roughly 7 hourslater on the 6th pitch]Pete; ever so slightly

vexed: TAKE! JESUS

FUCKING GOD


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Sound of trolley hitting crash barriers on Great Western Rd.Kat:Cathy! Cathy? Where are you going.?

* Milly, while hungover, standing on a stepping stone in Reiff:I hate fucking rivers

* Jo: I cant wild camp in England, theyll think Im bringing Scottish habits,

* Freshers Meet:Fresher; what bus is going to walk number 4?

Cathy Mac: that one over there,

Cathy Mac to Kat (under breath): what the fuck is number 4?Kat: thats ne

Approx an hour later:

Cathy Mac (returns with bus): where is everyone who wanted to go on ourwalk?Kat: I dont know, it seems to be just you, me and Anna left in the hallCathy Mac: Shit!

Later while up mountain:Stranger looking slightly bemused: You know, theres a group of about fortypeople further up the hill?!

Saturday night Freshers meet:Adam: we still have the bowls of vodka jelly for those games Jonnie suggestedAlison: we should eat that

After consumption of vodka jelly:Kat: Adam! Adam Couves is naked, (giggles and switches light on)

Adam caught in beams of light, hides in sleeping bag, light goes off.Kat: Adam! Adam Couves is still naked (light goes on again)

Judith and Alison: OOF! (result of Cathy Mac, Adam and Kat pile up on top of

them while they attempted to sleep)

Jo (disgusted face): Thats a waste of good Smarties!

Tom Smith at committee meetings:

Tom: This mug is not round what the fuck? The geometry is fucked up! Imtalking shit.

Tom: he had a clippy, i-pod thingy attached to his pubes in the shower!Jo: thats so unhygienic

Stewart: Women are like bikes, youve got to ride them daily andTanis: Grease them well?

Kat: I want discrete objects for my body.

Kat: do you think we could get the whole club naked, like thoseenvironmentalists.? What are they called?

Cathy Mac: naturists, not naturalists? Naturalists have animals and woodland.Danielle: so are naturalists naked with animals as well? No, thats bestiality?

On the costume:Danielle (smiling): weve got you a really nice costume KatKat (at any mention of the costume): Fuck off!Kat (upon seeing the costume): Oh my word..!

On the pants:Cathy Mac: Dont worry about spilling the wine if you get drunk before thespeeches, the pants will catch it, one way or the other..

And last but denitely not least, a last word from the President:* Kat Torr reecting on the Chris Sharma lecture (in front of a large number

of people, including world renowned climber Chris Sharma):

Id just like to say, without you guys coming tonight, and without Chris, I just dontthink this lecture would have happened

The morning after the vodka jelly, naked Adamand pile ups, Judith, Kat and Ali greet the sober

light of morning with joy!

Tom: youve got to shit andvomit in the seaTom/Stuart: dont leaveCathy Mac alone with thespecial hoses

Tom: Id rather piss on myown face than go back toLoft.

Stewart: I will not tip a pintdown Jonnies back and drinkit out of his butt crackStewart: my penis isdenitely bigger than my

laptop

Cathy MacIver


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Mountains in the Mind

Disclaimer: Soloing is stupid, there are many variables that can kill or injure youand I do not condone it. I do it without other option, choose something easy andback off early if I feel like it. Climb with me instead, then we dont have to solo. Iknow many of the French and German members of the club and love and respectthem and their countries, having lived in Germany for several years and climbedand skied in France often. Remarks in this article are not intended to be offensive,just gentle leg pulling that Scots suffer as much from.

There are certain places that I will always remember for being near perfect; the

situation, natural beauty and amount of close fun stuff, usually being the judgingfactors. Laguna Chiar Khota in the Cordillera Real is one such place. Fortunately

for you, this is a mountaineering journal so you are spared the description of theplace, but you can see the photos.

I was in a tricky spot. My ight home was in a week, I had only climbed one of the

mountains from the Condoriri base camp, had no partner and it was late season, soI was unlikely to nd one. The usual rattley bumping of a 4x4 dropped me off for the

walk in to the base camp and two hours later I was setting my tent up at the Laguna,nishing the wall to keep the wind off and building a cooking area for the ve days

that I hoped to spend at the base camp. There are loads of peaks there, but Iwanted to climb Cabeza de Condor, the highest and Pequeno Alpamayo, one ofthe most beautiful. A wee problem began almost straight away, when heavy snowall afternoon blanketed the area, wiping out tracks from previous groups, increasingavalanche risk and covering up crevasses. Not great for the solo mountaineer.

I chose to head up Tarija glacier to get to Pequeno Alpamayo and had to wait aday for a group of twelve Germans and their guides to go up so I could followtheir tracks. Acclimatised from my trip up Illimani the week before, I caught themfairly quickly, crossing a few crevasses that they had opened up, before topping

out on Tarija (5060m,) after a quick bit of Scottish grade I and a bad step over thebergshrund.

Pequeno Alpamayo lived up to its reputation of beauty. I rmly believe that the

most beautiful art is that of nature, and the sight of the sharp ridge curving awayfrom me, then racing celestially in a speckled monochrome to a point catching therst deep red of the days light, all on a canvas of the Amazon basin, but so high

above it that it is only with difculty that clouds are seen sleeping in the valleys

below, reinforced that belief. The image could not have been contrived, let alonemade in such minute detail by anything less than the awesome powers of natureand time. It made me feel small, yet privileged.

Congratulating myself for arriving ve minutes before sunrise with a solo high-ve,

but forgetting that I was holding an axe in my hand, I sat down to munch biscuits,drink and watch the scene unfold. After a while, noises like vair isss your towel,led me to believe that the Germans were coming, so, like the French, I ran away.A down climb of grade 2 scrambling on well scratched rock showed me to way tothe ridge, which was easily crossed and the option of doing the directissima wasshudderingly thrown out after seeing the steepness of the 300m pitch and gapingschrund. The ridge itself was delightful, already stepped and with an icy sectionof Scottish II to maintain interest, while the drop developed from: Ill be able toarrest, to Ill be able to arrest when the slope attens out, to the nal f*&k, dont

look down, the rivers now drain to the Atlantic!

Sitting on the summit (5370m) after soloing the mountain brought feelings of delight;

I was the only person enjoying a view that alone would have made the entire yearworth it, I was there for two hours as the Germans took a while on the steep ground,

able to do what I liked, when I liked, yet the lack of company also brought feelings ofemptiness. I wanted to share this, with no one in particular, but as so many otherswould be in similar raptures, I felt selsh for having it all to myself. Everyone in the

club could get here, maybe not solo, but denitely as part of a group.

Cabeza De Condor was a different story. Its a bit harder and the directissimawas do-able on the solo. It should have gone well; I did the ground work, just not

enough. The day before I had gone for a wander up the path to the point whereit breaks, to Pico Austria on the left and threads up through the gullies up to theglaciers on the plateau of Condoriri to the right. Fine, I thought, wide path, wellworn, no dramas here, straight forward up gullies in dark, base of the tricky bit fordawn.

Stupid Boy, the mountain would have boomed if it had been a certain SergeantMajor in the OTC, but I wasnt listening. The early start, efcient by now: dig gas

canister and water from sleeping bag where they had been sleeping to stop fromfreezing. Boil a pot of water while hugging the gas canister and make a brew and

porridge. Unwrap down jacket from legs and put on as I struggle from sleepingbag and on with trousers, waterproofs and boots. Bag ready beside me, I stuff thedown jacket in as my emergency bivi kit. Id be f$*ed to be honest. No mountainrescue, on my own. Itd be 24hrs at least before the Americans in base camp cameto look for me, even if they were t by then, I dont think much about it, just make

sure I keep things easy.

Into the morning air, biting cold penetrates loose clothing and I set off fast to keepwarm. Up to my high point of the previous day by head torch, off along the track and,woah, where did you go?? Ah theres a cairn, follow that, still no track though.Apply golden rule of climbing: Its got to be up. So up I go, the gully is loose, thereis a track, or at least must have been. At altitude the correct action of retracing my


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route to nd the track doesnt cross my mind, too much effort to get here already,

save the energy for things to come. The gully gets steeper, loose stones turn toloose gravel and nally loose sand and I nd myself putting crampons on to hop

from patch of ice to patch of ice. I nally get to the point where conscience wakes

up and smacks me on the back of the head.

What are we doing up here? Are you mad? This stuff wont stop you in a slip, youllgo for miles. This cant be the way up, nobody has been here before. Some rst

ascent.I argue back; It isnt that hard, just have to be careful.

Careful! Go on, go back down 5m.He had me there, it looked like Id start sliding and. He stretches my bladderabout three feet down and my guts sink. I tell him:Now we are in the situation. No point pointing ngers, elbows or giving spiteful

glances. Lets look at options and get out of it. I think going on may work, I am fairly

good at the mixed, lets see what we get.

Further, the gully turns into a strip of hard ice in the back of a groove, about Scottishgrade IV. Its too much and I have a look at escape options to either side whilebeing quietly relieved that crampons seem to work well while descending loosesand. Nothing else is worth a go, so I arrive at the bottom of the gully as it isbeginning to get light.

With the light, the path is glaringly obvious on top of the lateral moraine of theglacier. The cairn took me off too far to the left. I make a mental note to atten

the b$%^rd on my return. I follow it quickly, the lost time isnt horrendously bad,I know Im fast and will make up time on the rocky bit. Will need to have anotherlook at options when I get to the glacier. A fun nal scramble after scree slope

from hell, which wasnt bad at all if you have experienced the best of the Lakes,Snowdonia and the Highlands, saw me make up over a hour of lost time and I startup the glacier, wary as I havent an existing path to follow, to show me where thecrevasses hide. All was well as I got to the base of the nal summit after picking

a winding route across the glacier, two big jumps were the worst of it, trying not tothink about going back when the snow is softer.

Looking at the summit, I chose the directissima a straightforward 60 degree snowslope, two similar angled bands of rock and the nal steep bit to the ridge.

Cant be more than Scottish III, Ive soloed that, it will be safe climbing, but therellbe exposure, just need to keep a calm head. Keep moving one step at a time andIll be ne and on the top before I know what Im doing.

The bergschrund looked tricky, quite winding where I wanted to cross it. Someinteresting steps with my heart in my mouth and an axe in each hand ready toswing got me to the nal gap, an undercut slope on the far side. High axes into

snow, hitting harder and harder and harder. They dont move when I pull on them,but will they hold? Stepping across, new placements a high step and up.

Wonderful hard neve underfoot. I feel like a sprinter as I stare up towards thesummit ridge above. The beauty of soloing: No ropes, no faff, just climb. Im away,the snow is hard enough to get good axes every time without sticking, cramponsbite solidly on every step. I eat up the slope, what a good choice continuing afterthe earlier nonsense. Ha ha, says he, Just you wait.

It gets worse as I get to the rst rock band. The snow has been in the sun too

long and now lets my axes cut through. I am not too bothered, just slower. I needto rely more on my feet, staying balanced on the steps that I need to kick, as mypoints wont stick. Picking my way through the rock band I get worried. I am calmthough, the bubble of fear is safely behind my left shoulder. It yells occasionallyloud enough for me to hear CAN YOU SEE THE DROP, but it is quickly shushed

and I keep an eye on it to stop it from coming closer. The rock is all loose, chossys$%e, and as youd expect, sloping outwards. Axe placements are poor and Iteeter across the rst traverse using balance and crampons. Back onto the crap

snow I nd a snow stake, I throw it towards the glacier, to pick up after. I watch it

land in the bergshrund with a burp. Higher, towards the end of the rst rock step,

it gets vertical. The bubble of fear is quite large now, but I wont let it burst. I amlooking up for a long time. I answer the unasked question with on belay, yes.

Down didnt look much good, side looked better, so I bail to the left, towards thegully that carries the normal route to the ridge. I am very neutral. I cant expectto get everything. I wasnt going to push myself; I made the decision in those

circumstances. If I am going to beat myself up about it, I need to be back in thosecircumstances. It happened. Deal with it. If its going to be a challenge I wont getit every time, especially if I want to keep on doing it.

As I get closer to the normal route the slope eases off and the bubble of fear hasleaked away. Up the grade I gully and onto the ridge.

Oh, thats narrow.Narrow? It ends in a point! Thats very f***in narrow!Slow and steady, but aware of the 400m slope to my right and the three or fourtimes that to my left I traverse along to the top. Turning round I make out Titicacato the right, with land behind that must be Peru. To the left is Sajama from lastyear and to its left, Parinacota and her sister, which marks Chile. Turning to theright the Cordillera Real stretch along the Andes towards things to do; Anchohama

and Illampu and further round there is a dramatic drop and change in climateas the clouds over the Amazon basin hide the view. It was worth it. What anexperience.

Jonnie Williams


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Blue paling at the edges,Grass of British Green,chequered elds roll into hill,

Stores of spring about to open,Content villages resting still,A view that feeds the memory,When spirit runs close to nil.

Spires of black,Screaming edges,The blue of hatred cold,Days of blessed trespass.To feed the mind of old.

The white blanket has fallen,The cleansed earth is sleeping still,Gods are high on the pillows,Looking down on the ethereal.

The rough warm grip,With crystal orange glow,A day of push and pull,Felt through hand and toe,Memories for cloudy eyes,When they have overtaken,The dreams in our lives.

Jonnie Williams

What Memories Are Made Of Old Man of Hoy

Four manly men, seven legs and a lady.

September 2008.

Just as all good weekends start, thephone rang. It was Alex Pickard, thesuperhuman cripple founder of theGUNClub1. I must digress for a second,for those of you that arent acquaintedwith his muscular physique then I canonly describe him as he did himself thestrength of three men in one. Maybe its

his registered disabled orange badgehanging on the wall that helps himforce out every last millimetre of sweatdripping, power screaming chin-up fromhis worn nger board. I think it would be

fair to say that he discriminates againstus; the physically-abled for our lack of

strength. Anyway, enough of him, letstalk of the plan. He proposed a weekendadventure, one of his trademark well-thought out plans that he conceivedwhilst working in the ofce. What a

weekend it would be: An adventure tothe far end of Scotland; an attempt on one of the great legendary, classic and down-

right amazing climbs there is The Old Man of Hoy.

For those that dont know what the Old Man is, then imagine it the way PickardsGerman work colleague did - so a giant rock penis. Its just a freestanding seastack poking out of the sea, connected by a small causeway/pile of rubble to themainland. It lies just off the Island of Hoy, which is itself far off the North coast ofScotland. As far as the climbing goes, its 450ft high with four (as we did it) pitches

on the Original/East Face route: VD 4b, E1 5b, S 4b and VS 4b. First climbed in 1966by Bonnington, Baillie and Patey it holds a somewhat mythical status ever since therst ascent was broadcast live on the BBC. Its the exposure of the climbing and the

particularly tricky descent abseil that make the line a formidable route where anymistake would be a major issue. Hoy has no mountain rescue, and in fact, there areno skilled mountain rescue teams for many, many miles. We had planned for thatthough! I had a knife, duct tape and prussic loops and Simmons had bought alonghis mothers rst aid kit. We could have delivered a baby on that sea stack we were

so damn prepared.


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However, The Old Man of Hoy isnt just a route. No, its far more than that. Itembodies what climbing is about an experience and an adventure. You just dontget that same sense of your achievement watching a group of drunken neds spittingat each other after youve topped out at Auchinstarry. To follow in the steps of therst climbers to ascend the route (their ironwork and wooden chocks are still in

place, although maybe now a little unsafe), one can only be absorbed in the history

that surrounds the stack. In fact, just a few months before we visited, the stack sawits rst BASE jump descent!

Pickards proposition was wilfully accepted. In no time we had a (dream) team

Pickard, Alex Carberry, Thom Simmons and myself. Accompanying us as a guide(W.A.G) was none other than Nikita, Carberrys girlfriend. It is to Nikita that we

all owe an absolutely massive thank you for not only waiting patiently whilst weclimbed the stack to get incredible photos, but all in all, putting up with four typical

boys over the weekend. We decided that the plan was to climb as two pairs, one infront of the other. This would be best should we have any problems, and turned outto be especially useful on the technical abseil descent. We split up the planningbetween the team. Simmons was put in charge of food purchase (a decision later

to be regretted) whilst me and Pickard were the drivers and Carberry sorted gear

and music out. We got our hands on as many ridiculously large cams and hexes wecould - ready for the notorious overhanging off-width crack E1 pitch. Anyone thatjokes at size 5 cams in shops obviously knows nothing of the Old Man.

And so, after packing way too much gear into the poor Vauxhall Astra on Friday,we set off with like a boy racer through Glasgow with a noisy broken exhaust anddangerously lowered suspension. It was a six hour drive from Glasgow to Scrabster topick up the rst ferry. On the way Carberry enlightened us with plenty of dance music,

mostly involvingthe psychedelicdelights ofBasshunter. We

needed to get amove on, we wererunning short ontime and shouldwe miss the ferrythen we wouldprobably wouldntbe getting ontoHoy with enoughtime to climb thestack. Upwardsand onwards, the

car struggled as we bombed down the tight bends of the ever-changing Northerncoast. Whilst in the car, we were going through what exactly we were doing. FourEnglishmen and a girl from Shetland, sounds suiting for such a classic Scottishclimb. We agreed that Englishmen possess a certain stubbornness, a distinctivegrit and determination that would without doubt be admirable for such a adventure.Personally, I think our strength came from the obscene amounts of pork we weresoon to be consuming.

We got on to the ferry just in the nick of time, after our whistlestop tour of the North.It was amazing to see how big Scotland actually is. Id never been far North of theusual mountains so was truly impressed by the stunning coastal scenery that liesso far from Glasgow. The big passenger ferry takes about 3 hours to get across tothe small touristy port of Stromness. Whilst on the ferry we discussed our tacticsover a hearty dinner and sample of the local brew ale that can only be describedas something of a cross between at coke and Guinness. I found it quite comical

that quite literally everything on this ferry was attached to something else in someway. Even the chairs were leashed to the oor. Ive never been on a ferry that went

up and down so much and apparently it was perfect weather that day. As night felloutside, we went out on to the deck and could see the imposing shadow of the OldMan against the sea cliff. It didnt look a problem at all. But then, theres a reasonwhy fat people nd success in dark nightclubs shadows do make big things look

deceptively small.

After waiting at Stromness for an hour or so, sitting outside the local watering holewith a few pints of that good old Glasgow Tenants tradition we boarded the tiny single-car ferry to head over to Hoy itself. Spirits were high and we all felt pretty pleased tohave made it this far. The sky was clear and the weather looked promising for theweekend. The stars shone brightly and there was a deep glistening that shone overthe black water all around us. Whilst the diesel engine murmured some of the other(drunk) passengers came over to enquire as to what a bunch of southerners were

doing in such a random part of the world. Our response of climbing the Old Manled to a classic sober- drunk conversation. The joker on the ferry over was trying to

convince us that the only place there are ants on Hoy is on the top of stack and thatwe should oblige to feed them when we drop by. Bollocks so we all thought.

Upon arriving at the island, the boat radioed (!) ahead for the one and only taxi

on the Island to come and pick us up and take us across the island to RackwickBay where we planned to stay in the bothy. The taxi man skilfully reversed a FordTransit minibus up the pier, with about 25cm either side of the wheels and no barrierto dropping in the sea. These islanders, they live on the edge! Whilst he took us toour nal location we chatted about the island and the history of the stack and all the

people he had met. He cheerily informed us that some French lass (none other

than Catherine Destivelle) had happily soloed up the stack, at 5 months pregnant

the other year. I bet she didnt take afternoon tea and scones up though. We arrived


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at the bothy well after midnight. We could hear the waves crashing through thenight but had no idea of where we were staying. The bothy was extremely pleasant very ne accommodation for such a scruffy bunch of students.

I woke up with a jolt. Something big ew into the window? Now I was awake I could

see the hillside opposite so I put my trousers on and went outside to start whatwas to be one of the most incredible days of my life. As I stepped out the door itdawned on me how remote we actually were. The view was quite simply stunning,the waves were bouncing into the spectacular Rackwick bay. I could see a coupleof tiny houses standing nearing the shoreline further up and great cliffs of chossrising up out of the sea. The excitement yet nervousness of what we were aboutto attempt was clear. We packed our gear and prepared our food. Unsurprisingly,all but one of us forgot to bring water in the rush. Never mind, off we set, alongthe coastline. The wind was light and the temperature perfect. The DangerousCliffs warning sign only helped encourage us. We were all chatting about the day

ahead, Carberry especially was condent that we should Have no problem boys.Too right! But then, the stack came into view over the hillside. He went quiet veryquickly, Bloody hell boys. It was huge. A tottering pile of choss rising steeply fromsea level, the top of the stack pushed menacingly above the grassy coastline aswe drew nearer. This really was a serious climb. To imagine what Bonnington,Baillie and Patey were thinking when they were here is inconceivable. To believethat such a stack is climbable, and then attempt and successfully climb it is pluckyto say the least.

After what can only be described as a dodgy descent from the headland onto therocky causeway and over to the stack, we geared up and got the bag packed.We left a stash of pork (scotch eggs, sausage rolls and pork pies thanks to

Simmons for his pork fetish) at the bottom and ipped a coin for who would go

rst. Me and Simmons won. Im still deciding on whether it was positive or negative

discrimination against the registered disabled member of the group, having onlyone leg we naturally entrusted him with the large rucksack of essential gear tohaul up the route. By essential, I of course mean essential to an Englishman (who

genetically fail to understand any concept of go light ethics). Naturally, the itemsincluded a gas canister, stove, bottle of water, tea, fruit scones, jar of jam, clottedcream and SLR camera. Next time he wont be boasting about the size of hisguns. You really do get what you ask for. We (Pickard) even kindly took white

shirts and GUNClub ties up for the all important group photo at the top. Carberrydecided it would be a great idea to wear his tie on the ascent. Such is the sight ofan Englishman in crazy pyjama trousers, white shirt and smart tie thrutching up adank, sandy and wildly overhanging off-width crack on a remote sea stack, far offthe coast of Scotland on a pleasant Saturday afternoon.

The rst pitch was a warm up ramp up to a terrace. It soon became apparent to me

that this sandstone is terrible rock to climb not only is every hold covered in damp

sand making it near impossible to get a solid crimp on anything, but it also has thestructural integrity of a toilet roll. If it hadnt taken so damn long to get to this stack Idhave probably turned round by now. But, the feeling of being there was absolutelyimmense. The surroundings were surreal, we could see Nikita taking photos fromthe headland, and the sea was crashing into the basalt base of the stack beneathus and to look up, you could now see the colossal and imposing overhang of theroute. We counted over seven ropes hanging from the stack, swaying in the wind.A warning to prospective climbers that this is no walk in the proverbial park. Therewas plenty of ironwork and tat hidden amongst the choss. I decided to test thestrength of one peg I spotted it snapped in half in my ngers. Some of this gear

was likely used on the rst ascent in 1966.

From the agreeable terrace the real climbing began. Step up Simmons and Carberry.Simmons went off on the lead rst. A quick down climb and what could only be

described as a sketchy gear-less traverse preceded a long off-width crack, pushing

through two roofs (the second being the 5b crux). This E1 pitch was phenomenal.The rock was on the whole utterly terrible, forget any small holds, you simplycouldnt grip them. Simmons did an amazing job in stitching up the crack with anexcessive number of ridiculously sized cams. The overhang was quite something,looking down you should see the void beneath you. This posed a problem however,for both leader and second. If you fall, you had better know how to use a prussic asyoure going to be hanging in free space. Rock climbing is a simple equation: takeout the rock and youre not going to be getting anywhere quickly. And of course, youcant be lowered down to start again. Lodged deep in the off-width in many placeswere the original wooden chocks for protection. Ill be the rst to admit, I might

have aided in places off these. I followed Simmons up to the tiny belay spot and leftthe cams/gear in-situ for Carberry to climb sport style. Unsurprisingly, Pickard gotstuck underneath the second crux roof with the bag. I believe he used the strengthof three men and plenty of swear words to extract himself from that tricky spot. Itwas now my turn to lead up the next two easy pitches.

Off I set up the third pitch. Cruising up the severe I thought of the nightmare stories

of the dreaded fulmars and their technical chundering tactics on unsuspectingclimbers. Simmons had bought his goggles for personal protection. I personally feelthat having shy brine unwittingly spewed at you has got to up the grade for sure.

Thankfully however, as this was the end of season there was no sign of the birds,only an inch or two or stinking shy bird crap and feathers to climb through in places

- tasty! The exposure was starting to become apparent as we were now high up onthe stack. The sea seemed far off below and we could see the occasional shing

boat at sea and interested onlookers on the headland. Poor Nikita looked freezingcold sitting there with camera.

And so, it was time to climb the nal pitch. I started up the top corner (VS),

supposedly the nest corner pitch anywhere in Scotland. Not far from topping out


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I heard the dull far off murmur ofchopper blades. I was on whatcould only be described as themost atmospheric, immense anddown right mind-blowing pitchof my life. As I turned around,the bold red and white SARhelicopter skimmed between usand the mainland. It had spottedus. It banked sharply and circledthe stack a number of times. Thecrew opened up the door andwere waving and taking photos.The noise and vibration wasdeafening, but the adrenaline

of being eye to eye with thepilot whilst hanging 400ft off theground is a feeling I will neverever forget. As I continued on up,I started feeling a cooling breezeagainst my face in the shelteredcorner. Something wasnt quiteright. As I climbed yet further, thesea became visible through thecrack of the corner itself. This tottering pile of choss is in fact two tottering piles ofchoss at the top! I made certain to place feet gently as I bridged up, who knows,maybe the weight of an 6ft2 Englishman might have just been enough to send onehalf hurtling into the sea.

It was then, that I made the last reach to pull myself up onto the top. I wasemotionally and physically drained. I shouted down the radio that I had topped out.What a feeling, to be here on top. I have never climbed anything so astonishing

and downright mind-blowing as this. I stood up and looked around me, this placewas something else. Something I hadnt experienced before. I took a deep breath,ran a few slings around some large blocks of choss and a setup a belay. Simmonsarrived on top, and we sat basking in our glory. Wed done it well, at least half ofit anyway for we still had the tricky descent to complete yet. Whilst waiting for theother boys I can conrm that yes, there are ants on top of the stack, and they do

indeed like strawberry jam.

After the necessary photos of all four of us in shirts and ties and a quick afternoontea celebration we decided it was time to do the scary bit descend back downagain. Anyone who is a climber will know how scary abseiling is. In a controlledenvironment its ne, but when youre hanging on pieces of gear high up on a big

route then it would only take one little mistake to make an unplanned acquaintancewith the ground. This is where two pairs with four ropes between them becamevery useful. The idea we had was to chain the two abseils to speed up the descent.Myself and Simmons were slick on the abseiling as a result of our time in the alpsso we set off on the rst ab. The hardest thing about the descent is making sure

you hit the next anchor theyre not as obvious as you might think. It took a littlebit of swinging, to make it to awkwardly situated tat. A little inspection of the gearand some backup tat and we threaded the other set of ropes whilst Pickard andCarberry made their way down to us. Down we went, metre by metre. This abseilwas denitely testing on the nerves. When youre that far off the deck, the ground

looks very small. The atmosphere of the stack, surrounding cliffs and sea only addsto the real feeling of exposure that youre immersed in. We nally reached the last

abseil, this was the big one. With 60m ropes you can do it right to the rocks at thebase. As we threw the ropes down we could see they were just licking the rocks and then the wind off the sea which had got up by this time starting blowing them

far out over the sea itself. Id read this was the open air abseil, but as I started offfrom the anchor, my feet were very rmly on the rock. But then, all of a sudden,

before I knew it was hanging 50m off the ground, just looking into the void! Id neverdone an abseil as extreme as that before! Down I went; my feet nally back on solid

ground.

After a feast of pork by-product, the seriously dehydrated four of us and (very bored)

Nikita started the walk back to the bothy. What happens beyond here is somethingof a blur, somewhere between the elation of having completed the climb and thethumping headache of dehydration. As we walked back through Rackwick Bay, westarted chatting to a friendly local couple (after trespassing on their garden). We

ended up going in for a glass of water and a beer. They were some of the friendliestpeople I have ever met, and let me just say, I have never tasted a better bottle ofbeer than the two ice cold Stellas they provided. After just two beers, now feelingworse for wear we headed back to the bothy where we consumed yet more porkmeatballs, nearly set the place on re then fell fast asleep ready for the long drive

home, powered by a pork-fest breakfast.

What a day, what a hell of day. Wed done it! Quite frankly, I think Bonington, Baillieand Patey would be incredibly proud of our very traditional ascent. The stack certainlygets more climbers there than days gone by, but it is still a remote and wonderfulclimb that I would highly recommend to anyone in need of an adventure.

Notes:1 The GUNClub? Put simply, its the wholly elitist and downright sexist group ofthuggish and muscle-endowed manly men of the GUMClub.

2A lot of pigs were likely to have been harmed in the making of this adventure.

Stewart Whiting


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1. Geoff Cooper2. Jo Clements3. Kat Torr4. Geoff Cooper5. Geoff Cooper6. Mike Rycroft7. Mike Rycroft8. Jo Clements9. Kat Torr10. Jonnie Williams11. Geoff Cooper12. Mike Rycroft13. Geoff Cooper14. Jo Clements15. Kat Torr16. Mike Rycroft17. Geoff Cooper

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1. Kat Torr

2. Jo Clements3. Mike Rycroft4. Stewart Whiting

5. Mike Rycroft6. Mike Rycroft7. Geoff Cooper

8. Stewart Whiting9. Geoff Cooper10. Mike Rycroft

11. Jonnie Williams12. Geoff Cooper

13. Jonnie Williams14. Kat Torr

15. Callum Taylor16. Jonnie Williams

17. Kat Torr

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After a fantastic abseil Jonnie dropped Craig and Tom off at the bus before headingnorth under the inuence of brandy and a mild concussion. On the bus ride home

not even Tom Smiths love of roundabouts (doesnt he know its illegal to go round

more then three times?) could dampen the freshers spirits as they reected on the

awesome day theyd had.

Tom Jenkins

Camping Trip to Arran

It all began with an idea to get out of Glasgow. A plan was formed, bikes wereborrowed, and meeting times agreed to. Five of us would leave Glasgow Central

station at 4:50 pm on Friday (March) heading for Arran; have sh and chips for dinner,wild camp overnight, bike around the island (some thought this was optimistic) and

return late Saturday: a proper GUM Club members trip.

Because Im known to be bad with directions, I left plenty of time to get to the trainstation in case of getting lost. Upon arriving early, I bought my ticket then settledin to wait for the others. With 20 minutes until the train left, I received a panickedphone call from Laura Wright: Were late but were catching the train and will bethere soon. Buy our tickets please and call back with the platform number, wellmeet you there. With that done, I waited at the platform and watched as thedigital clock seemed to quickly count towards departure time... Cora Moffett arrived,breathless, as the train was pulling out of the station. The others followed shortly.Rachel Hunt had sustained a twisted chain after a near-death experience on theroad, and so had had to run part way. Also, the four intrepid travellers hadnt madeit to the shop for food. We decided to catch the next train at 7:15, in the mean timegetting the chain xed, the groceries purchased (Laura was informed that a bag of

mini Cadburys and a bag of Doritos did not constitute a days worth of calories for 4cyclists), and dinner found. In the spirit of the GUM Club, we attempted to nd sh

and chips, but the ones around Central Station are all dodgy. Rachel, Cora, andDoug found decent substitutes, but Laura and I felt it necessary to start the trip withthe requisite full serving of grease: KFC. We soon regretted it, of course!

A relatively uneventful train ride later (ingeniously cramming the bikes on the seats),

we arrived at the ferry. The ticket ofce was closed, but as I was the only one without

a through-ticket, we didnt take much note. As we waited for the ferry to dock, wewere in good spirits, despite the uncertainty of possibly having to cycle in searchof a place to camp in the dark upon arrival. These fears were not to materialise,however, as a ferry worker approached us. Youre a week too early! he exclaimed,smiling. We had a laugh, then asked what he was on about. Summer sailing

It was a dark and stormy night in Tremadog, the hall reverberated to the noise offurious sock wrestling, Jonnie gyrated curiously, performing what may loosely bedescribed as a dance and the sound of wretching drifted through the open dooras Tom Smith deposited the vast quantities of wine he had earlier consumed. Onlywhen the sock wrestling subsided in the early hours did Jonnie realize that he hadnot yet found anyone gullible enough to join him on the following days expeditionup Lockwoods chimney (please refrain from lthy jokes at this point). For climbing

partners he turned to two eager freshers; Tom, a native of Wales who recognized

the downpour as mere drizzle and Craig, a veritable bundle of enthusiasm.

After a night disturbed only by the thuds of Jonnie falling out of his hammock onto

his head the team was up early, only half past ten. When some minor detailssuch as how everyone was getting back to Glasgow had been sorted they set offwith their carefully prepared kit. Curiously the equipment list provided by Jonnieincluded half a bottle of brandy. By the end of the walk in the brandy supply wasdropping rapidly. After a further swig Jonnie led the rst pitch up a wet greasy crack

with Tom belaying very poorly. Next up was Craig who made light work of what was,in the conditions, quite a challenging climb for a diff. Tom followed, climbed two feetup the route and fell off. His next attempt was somewhat more successful with onlya brief stop (ve minutes) to remove one of Jonnies nuts from the crack (shame on

anyone who nds that funny).

At the belay more brandy was consumed before Jonnie disappeared into a crackwhich led deep into the rock. The belaying on this occasion was truly terriblewith Tom succeeding to jam the rope in the belay device at one point which led todisapproving looks from some American climbers as Jonnie screamed obscenitiesout of the crag. Craig and Tom followed, squeezing up a very tight chimney beforeemerging into a part of the crack where a relatively level oor lead even deeper into

the rock. They squeezed along it swigging brandy as they went.

The third and nal pitch was another squeeze up the back of the chimney before

emerging onto the face of the crag with the valley oor laid out ahead. It was on this

pitch that the carefully packed head torches would have been helpful, were they notstill carefully packed in rucksacks at the foot of the climb. By now Jonnie had hadenough of Toms belaying so the task was given to Craig. As it turned out belayingwas quite unnecessary as Jonnie placed a grand total of no gear, the crack being sotight that falling would actually have taken quite some effort. At the top of the climbTom and Craig compared brandy consumption and only at this point did they realizethat a very large portion of it must have been drunk by Jonnie who would later bedriving to Glasgow. Jonnie maintains that he drank very little.

Twll Tin Mochyn Daear


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bypassed Laurathrough a quagmireof mud, claiming, allyou need is a littlespeed, followed byhitting a big hole andlanding on my bikeseat in such a way asto possibly affect myfuture reproductivecapacity. With mudcaked all over, mybike also lost mostof the use of its backbrakes, and started

emitting a sound likedying ducks from the

pedals. Having at this point also narrowly escaped a weather system, we nally

made it to a lunch-worthy spot on a lovely hill.

We continued on along an old railway track, quite nice cycling (even considering

our terrible singing) and stopped at the Peach Tree Pub - Laura came to a stop,

and while still astride,fell over and splated on the ground. Notwithstanding howpainful it looked, we all burst out laughing. Luckily shes a tough woman and saidshe was ne (although we suspect the bruises are turning a nice shade of green

at the time of writing). At this stop we gured out where we were (defying all GUM

Club protocol we hadnt brought a map, just written directions), and decided wed

gone approximately seven to eight miles. Rachel agreed to do two more thenreturn to Milngavie via the A81 (brave!). Little did she know that her relatively

quick two miles would contain about 25 gates! At least the sun had come out!

Having said goodbye to Rachel, we carried on. Unfortunately my dread of more

hills was soon realized legs pumping and thighs burning, I just couldnt keep up!Judicious (yet covert) inspection of the others panniers and sacs did not yield an

excuse of having more gear to carry either. The only way of catching up, it turnedout, was to nd Laura on hands and knees trying to get her chain to cooperate.

This at least yielded time to catch ones breath and take in some of the views.During one such viewing experience, Laura informed us that if youre getting it onin a car, and want others to join in, you leave the light on - these outings are justso educational!

As we neared Drymen, we caught a glimpse of Loch Lomond. This was quiteheartening, and we soon found ourselves at the little Drymen shop twelve milescompleted. It was 3pm and the sun was shining warmly, as Doug pointed out

doesnt start until nextweek! he replied witha chuckle. Clearly hewas joking... actuallynot at all. The ferrywas nished sailing for

the night, next sailingat 7am. WHAT???The idea of campingat the ferry terminalwas soon rejected,and we foundourselves on the trainback to Glasgow,accompanied by

tales of Coras pig-riding experience (itsbristly, she says).

Cora spearheaded the committee for getting out of Glasgow on the weekend, andsuggested doing part of the West Highland Way. After some discussion, i.e. the restof us gits being indecisive, the plan was agreed to. 10am meeting at Partick railstation going to Milngavie, therefore minimizing the time on the road and maximizingtime on the Trail. In reasonable spirits, we biked home. Noting the decidedly crispair that evening, I decided to bring an extra sleeping bag for the trip.

Unfortunately, Rachel had quite a large project due on Monday, and took the decisionnot to camp on Saturday morning. Despite some back-and-forth of whether or notthe rest of us would camp, we decided to go for it chiey because I, for only the

second time in my entire existence, was early at the train, and had upped my gearto my usual GUM Club meet standards, i.e. about one tonne.

At 11am we cheery ve were ready to set out, and of course the weather hadchanged from sunshine in the morning, to cloudy and cool (Rachels goose pimples

attesting to this). Doug, typical Scot, optimistically forecast warm sunshine by

3pm. At the Info booth we were warned 1) not to y past pedestrians or we might

get pulled off our bikes and 2) the closest train station was 10 miles out of Drymen

(our destination), meaning it wasnt a good Plan B. The rst bit of trail went by

quickly, with only two about-turns needed (one solely by Doug, who failed to see

Cora turning) to resume the correct path. Dratted sign-posts werent much help...

As we pedalled along, the track became less smooth, with mud and rocks, andour journey was punctuated by little cries of surprise or dismay, chiey from those

on road bikes. Unfortunately at one point I got cocky with my mountain bike and


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Jaimie Kidson

aspect, cure for hunger, and lightening of some of the panniers! We had troubleeven nding a spot to do this and eventually ended up at a cow pasture with a view

of Ben Lomond thanks to Cora the eagle-eyed mountaineer. Sadly the cookingapparatus was not suited to cow pasture and we ended up eating on the graveldrive beside the road, cursing while trying to get the thing alight. Further cursingensued as we tried to wind-break, cover the water and pasta to get a boil, preventCoras Thermarest from catching re etc. The pasta tasted delicious of course, and

was complemented by rum punch out of a ask. Doug declared this to be a date

a romantic Italian dinner in the Scottish countryside...

Being experienced GUM Clubbers and campers, we had thoughtfully packed onlyone spork between us...By the time we packed up it was 6pm and everyone was a bit chilly. The remainingmiles were short, although at one point Cora and I both had the chains fall off at thesame time, and Cora remarked, strangely, the only bike to make it up this hill with

its passenger is yours ridden by Laura. We arrived at Balloch train station withabout the only good luck befalling us so far: the train was in the station and we hadtime to buy tickets and arrange our bikes before it was due to leave.Our camping trip to Arran didnt quite materialise, but we made it out of Glasgowand had fun and exercise in the sun. The total cost of one days cycling only came

Me: Oh mygoodness, when youpedal, it actually goesforward!Thereafter, heroes

Laura and Cora gavemy legs a break andtook over my bike, allin the face of no backbrakes and a verylow seat.

It was Cora whosuggested havingdinner at least abare authenticationof the camping

repeatedly. The next debate was: four (hilly) miles on the road or eight (atter)

miles on the path to Balmaha? Luckily for my aching thighs, we decided to turnback a mile and a half to a cycle path wed seen going to Balloch and its train station.This path was 8 miles, and we intended to nd our wild camping spot along it.

A nice spot along a river was unfortunately rejected after trying to get permissionproved to be a little more trouble than wed bargained for. The next place heldmore promise: there was a parking area and huts. Cora and Laura bravely wentto get permission from the Brownie leaders, as they turned out to be. We weregiven the OK to camp across a stream in a nice tree-lined eld bathed in sunshine.

Even given the proximity of 30 Brownies running about screaming, this seemedlike an ideal spot. As we gloated over this luck, we started unpacking and got sofar as laying out one tent before the Brownie leaders were back. We think theresbeen a misunderstanding, they said. You cant camp here. Apparently theymisunderstood what they had told us? They proceeded to give us suggestions: asix-mile cycle here, a paid camp site there, etc.

It was 4:30pm and we needed to nd a camping spot relatively soon in order to

have everything in order before sundown. By this point we were getting desperateand a little down-hearted about nding one. Finally we called a vote, and when

nobody would vote Yes for camping (although nobody voted Yes for going home

either), we decided that if a perfect spot came up then so be it, and if not, wed

get to the train at Balloch. All agreed that wed had a marvellous days cyclingeither way. However in a somewhat more private conversation, I admitted to Laurahow sore my backside was and suggested trading bikes in order to experience adifferent seating conguration. Upon exchanging bikes, the following illuminating

comments were heard:Laura: This bike doesnt go anywhere!

Geoff Cooper


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Newtonmore Acess

Subject: Re: The Journal 2008/9From: [email protected]: [email protected]: Wed, 28 Jan 2009 11:24:32 +0000

I attach an important and topical article. Access problems at the crag are currentlyongoing. I encourage you all to contact the M C of S to highlight these issues(http://www.mountaineering-scotland.org.uk/access/index.html). Until these issues

are resolved I cannot reccomend climbing on the aforementioned crag as youmay be held liable for any damage.

Ron

----

Subject: RE: The Journal 2008/9

From: Michael Barnard ([email protected])

To: [email protected]; [email protected]

Date: 29 January 2009 10:22:04

Ron,When I contacted MCofS they said that after some stabilisation work had beendone by the landowner, the crag would really have to be bolted to make theclimbing acceptably safe. Outraged by this, I realised that with no bolt fund forthe crag we may never be able to climb there again! I suggested the GUMC hadfunds they would be willing to lend, but pointed out that I was very much againstminimalist bolting . There was then some talk of highballing vs danger, which I didnot see the relevance of.

---

Subject: recent update and development in the newtonmore acess negotiations

From: tom simmons ([email protected])

Sent: 29 January 2009

Documents

GUMC Journal 2009