A and C may be reasonably called easy. They are not too hard for muscular novices, and are comparatively safe. But the central chimney is decidedly stiff, and should not be indiscriminately recommended with the others. It is very narrow all the way to the jammed stone at the top; it is about as difficult to get out, when half-way up, as it is to continue the direct ascent, and suitable belaying for the leader or his followers cannot be found at the hardest parts of the climb. I tried the chimney once when there was a considerable quantity of water coming down, and was compelled to give it up: it is probable that even with a second man to help me I could not have managed it.

We found our way safely to the entrance of our chimney and started up. Almost immediately we passed the branch gully on the left. It looks very formidable, and indeed its first pitch is undoubtedly hard. It consists of a two-storied cave, the first floor composed of three jammed stones, which are passed by backing up the crack and traversing outwards. The second pitch is of a simpler character, consisting of a cave that can be passed on either side. We had no designs on this variation, and were contented to throw a casual glance towards the lower obstacle as we proceeded up the rocky bed of our central chimney. Our field of view soon became very limited, for the clean-cut parallel walls on either side were scarcely five feet apart, and the average slope of the gully exceeded forty-five degrees. During the first hundred feet the work was distinctly safe and easy, but a glance backward at the point whence we had started, seemingly the first stop in the event of our falling, made us both inclined to imagine dangers in our way. The side walls in intense gloom formed a fitting frame to the narrow picture of the distant sunlit fells. The general aspect of the situation closely resembled that of the upper half of Collier’s climb on Scawfell, and of the Oblique Chimney on Gable Crag, though in each of those cases the chimney is at a considerable angle to the vertical, whereas here the fissure in the rocks is almost perpendicular. We were a little perplexed by some ice that had frozen in large rounded knobs to a thickness of eight or ten inches over a steep six feet of the gully. An axe would have summarily disposed of any icicles of doubtful security, but we had not expected any such evidences of cold and were unprovided. The ice was not absolutely continuous; here and there we could kick out levels for our feet, and to our relief the trouble was passed in a few minutes. Then came the worst bit of the ascent—the scene of my discomfiture eighteen months before. First came a vertical wall stretching across the gully, and rising twenty feet above our somewhat insecure standing. Beyond that the gully sloped evenly to the dark recesses of a cave, the jammed boulder of which almost appeared vertically above our heads. We mounted an upright block at the foot of the wall, and prospected for holds. None were visible. I peered at the sides in search of scratches, which would show whether the earlier party or parties had backed up the chimney. No! they had not availed themselves of that process. Then, with the conviction that an indirect way must exist, we examined the walls a few feet below the pitch, and at last hit upon a way of mounting higher. I was belayed by a rope passing round the upright block already referred to, and proceeded to walk along the horizontal edge of a thin crack on the right wall, leaning across to the other side of the gully for general support on the hands. I had implicit trust in the rope and the man at the other end of it, or the manœuvre would have given me agonies of apprehension. Just as the second step was being made along the crack, its thin edge broke away under my foot and I slipped a few feet down the gully, till the rope tightened and brought me to a stop. A second attempt was more successful. The edge was followed till it expanded into a respectable foothold, and then, holding myself straight, I was able to reach good ledges for the hands. It was now easy to stride across to the left wall and climb directly upwards along its crest to a platform large enough for both of us; hither my companion followed me, adopting almost the same tactics and taking but half the time. We were now virtually out of the gully, and found the sunshine pleasant after so much darkness. But the joy that might have attended our remaining efforts in working up to the head of the chimney was marred by the reflection that we had not conquered the chief difficulty; we had only avoided it. This is right and proper for snow-climbers, but distinctly unorthodox for cragsmen. Our doubts grew as we advanced, and at last I proposed to descend again and settle them finally. This suggestion was met with a very prompt approval, and ten minutes later found me at the foot of the vertical wall again. It did not look any easier, and I am not prepared to say how narrowly I missed a second failure. After leaving the upright block the scanty holds soon disappeared, and with some desperate struggling I found myself backing up the chimney with the feet thrust hard against the left wall. Both sides seemed dangerously smooth, but cautious wriggling for a distance of two or three feet brought a handhold within reach, and the top of the wall was gained. The only other ascent known to me was by a man with a singularly long reach, and in some marvellous way he managed to climb the wall without any backing up.

Thence to the cave was fairly easy after a few mossy loose stones had been flung down, and the finish was effected by a neat little ledge along the left wall, passing out just at the edge of the pitch. The hole through the cave is not so small as the first investigators imagined; the trouble in passing through is due to its crookedness, but the name of the chimney is generally supposed to indicate with proper remoteness the garment that is here threatened with a complete inversion.

We hurried across the top of C gully and round the Horse and Man to the Pulpit rock. The D gully had a great deal of snow in it, and we indulged in sundry glissades. The snow was not too hard nor the angle too great, otherwise ice-axes would have been necessary. The upper pitch was passed on our left with perfect ease. Then further snow led to the lower pitch, a much more imposing sight. Two sharp-edged boulders of immense size formed a cave. On the side of the Pulpit rock there seemed to be no chance of passing it. The other side, though mossy, might easily be made to go. In our descent we kept a little further away, and came down ledge after ledge with excellent holds to the foot of the pitch. Then more glissading brought us down to the open fell again. We spent a quarter of an hour watching with much interest a party coming down Scawfell Pinnacle by Steep Ghyll, and having seen them safely into the lower part of the ghyll, where the steady click of the leader’s axe intimated slow progress over ice-covered rocks, we turned our backs to the fell and moved leisurely homewards.

CHAPTER II
DEEP GHYLL. THE GREAT CHIMNEY AND PROFESSOR’S CHIMNEY

Deep Ghyll.—This will remain for long a favourite resort of climbers, partly because the two pitches are always interesting and may be turned in so many different ways, partly because the gully gathers annually a big snow drift, which can generally be relied upon between Christmas and Easter to afford some practice in the use of the ice-axe, and partly because the rock scenery is of the finest character throughout. The ghyll has been familiar to the visitors of Scawfell for many years. It was first ascended in March, 1886, by Messrs. Geoffrey Hastings and Slingsby, and an interesting account of the expedition appeared in the ‘Alpine Journal.’ It had been descended twice before, in 1882, by Messrs. Mumm and King, with heavy snow blocking the pitches, and in 1884 by Mr. Haskett Smith. The quickest way of reaching the foot of the ghyll is to walk up Brown Tongue till within a couple of hundred feet of the level of Hollow Stones. It is here unnecessary to keep straight over towards the centre of Mickledore, for a shallow depression to the right of Brown Tongue may be traversed obliquely upwards, and the scree struck close to the well-defined edge of the lower crags of Scawfell. Thence it is best to keep close under the cliffs, following an easy gradient up to the Lord’s Rake. This is the large scree gully passing up to the right, under the main mass of Scawfell. The scree forms at the foot of the Lord’s Rake the usual fan-shaped talus, which here stretches down towards Hollow Stones. In summer it may occasionally be worth while making directly up the centre of the scree.

Just opposite the corner round which one turns into the Lord’s Rake a rather slightly marked gully starts up from the side of the rake. It becomes better defined a few yards higher, and leads directly into Steep Ghyll. Almost at the same spot a ledge is to be noticed passing round to the left of the huge wall fronting us at this corner. This is the start of the Rake’s Progress, the happy name given to the well-known terrace leading to Mickledore. We shall have further occasion to allude to this ledge, but we now pass up the Lord’s Rake till in a few feet we come to a magnificent gully on our left, recognizable under any conditions except the most snowy by the cave at its foot. A fine View of Deep Ghyll and its surroundings may be obtained by scrambling up to the low ridge that faces us as we look outwards from the cave. The ridge is somewhat broken up, and the terrible accident that caused the death of Professor Milnes Marshall at this spot must be a warning to any who wander up without thought of danger.

The orthodox route up the first pitch in Deep Ghyll is by the cave and chimney. It is the most interesting way, and probably in dry clean weather it is the easiest. When the chimney is cased with ice the route may become impossible. In that case a recess in the right wall (right, of course, when looking up at the climb) is often taken as a winter emergency exit; for although the holds are slight in summer, loose stones well bound up make it quite feasible in frosty weather.

The hardest way up the pitch is by the thin cleft between the big boulder and the left wall.

Passing up for about 150 feet we find a steep slope of rock occupying the left half of the gully. The scree in the other half leads up into a cave whose black rectangular aperture may have been observed from the Lord’s Rake ridge. The cave is formed by the ubiquitous jammed boulder, and no through route can be effected. A thin chimney cuts between the rock slope and the huge vertical left wall that rises with scarcely a break to the Low Man on the Scawfell Pinnacle. This chimney constitutes the easiest and safest route over the second pitch. On the right face an irregular ledge leads to a larger chimney (Robinson’s), which with some trouble can be followed till a level about twenty feet above the top of the cave pitch is reached. Thence a small terrace offers an easy promenade to the upper bed of the gully. A third way of taking the difficulty has been found; indeed, it is the most obvious way, though much the hardest. It is to climb the left wall of the cave entrance, and then wriggle up between the rock slope and the cave boulder.

There are many pleasant reminiscences of parties in Deep Ghyll. The hardest struggle I ever had with the first pitch was on Christmas Day, 1897. The rocks were badly glazed, and though we had no trouble in penetrating to the inmost recesses of the cave, we could find no easy way of getting higher. We were loth to try, seeing that one of our party had, with a mistaken philanthropy, loaded his rücksack with preserved fruit, prunes, and Carlsbad plums, and proceeded forthwith to dignify our primitive lunch with these unwonted luxuries. A halt called to consume a beef sandwich may be quickly terminated—and that, moreover, without a sense of sorrow, unless the beef is very bad—but those who know Carlsbad plums will realise how easily we were demoralised by their seductiveness, and how much we preferred to sit in our cave and argue on complicated topics with the plum-box open. But the owner was a man of some resolution, and heroically vowed that we should see no more of the plums till we reached a small recess at the top of Moss Ghyll, where we should ensconce ourselves after climbing the gully. So we made a start at once. The back way out of the cave promised well at first. It showed no trace of ice, but on emerging from the chimney (at the spot where the lower figure is shown in the View facing p. 12), and looking straight down to the entrance of the cave, it was found that a thin sheet of ice covered all the rocks. Generally speaking it would be better to let the rocks alone on such an occasion—in fact always, unless Carlsbad plums are at stake. Then, perhaps, the second man may be held firmly by the rope from behind while he gives the leader a shoulder. This help is of no use unless the leader can venture to trust the icy handhold above him, by which he is to swing round the awkward corner to the right. Some such scheme our party devised, after many futile attempts to fix an axe firmly as a foothold, and the leader dragged himself up the glazed surface to the deep snow above. In the ordinary state of things, be it remembered that where the climber emerges from the hole, he has first to stride round to a small ledge on the right. He can use as a take-off the rough surface of the boulder, and can reach a rigid handhold of small dimensions but good shape. Thence to the top of the pitch is easy scrambling, though care is needed.

The snow in the gully was in grand condition for kicking steps, and after the last man had been brought up the pitch in safety we marched to the upper cave and discussed the question of route over the second pitch. The direct way was ruled out of court at once, for its largest ledges are but half an inch wide, and ice on these rendered them useless. With a keen recollection of our trouble down below, we thought of the Robinson Chimney on the right, which is quitted by crossing on to a slabby rock that slopes down towards the centre of the gully. With ice on this an attempt to force the way up would more likely find us shooting over to the foot of the cave. Such a finish to our little day would no doubt exactly coincide with the anticipations of our more sanguine relatives and friends, but for the moment we had to consider each other’s feelings and I suggested the easy way up. There was a smiling unanimity of agreement in the party which pleased me far, very far more than a hundred strictly impossible ascents. We descended the gully again to the foot of the rock slope, and rounded into the little chimney. Things went very well for a few feet. But as we rose the ice became more troublesome, until it was necessary to chip it away from each diminutive ledge, and to proceed upwards with the utmost caution. The first part finished with a little snow patch twenty feet above the top of the cave boulder and the bed of the ghyll. Some years before, when first I visited Deep Ghyll, we had found it impossible to climb directly upwards from this point, and a man was let down by the rope into the ghyll. He cut steps up until he had obtained a higher level than the others waiting, and then induced them to traverse out a bit and jump into the snow below. The process was possible only with a long rope. Here we could all rest and contemplate the rock slab opposite which finishes the Robinson Chimney. Forty or fifty feet higher we could see, well marked out by the snow, the upper traverse that enables a careful walker to pass up Deep Ghyll without any hand-and-foot work. It is readily accessible from the Lord’s Rake, a few feet higher than the ordinary entrance to Deep Ghyll, and leads at an easy angle to a point in the main gully some hundred feet above the second pitch.

Looking up at the left wall of the Ghyll we could see that our slender chimney was but the beginning of a long crack that cut obliquely into the wall, and curled upwards in a fine sweep of eighty feet towards the summit of the Low Man. The curtain of rock that closed in the crack on its right hand made our next few yards rather troublesome, for it encroached on our ledge and rendered the work too open. Facework is always more trying than chimney climbing, especially when ice is about. But the leader’s recollection of the ease with which this part could be overcome in summer time divested it of all its fancied terrors and perhaps of some of its real dangers, and he had therefore a better time of it than his companions, whose extremities were somewhat benumbed by their patient waiting in awkward places, and whose activities were confined to their vivid imaginations. All actual danger was over when a horizontal ledge was reached well above the centre-level of the gully, which we followed with ease to the broken rocks that almost form a third pitch for Deep Ghyll.

Here the pleasantest way of finishing the day was to cut steps in the snow up the central gully, the angle gradually steepening from 35° to 55° at the top. That way we therefore took, and were soon enjoying the plums. But a rise of a few feet will show the Professor’s Chimney immediately to the left, cutting deeply into the rock between the Scawfell Pinnacle on the left and Pisgah on the right, and terminating at a fine-looking notch, ‘The Jordan,’ in the sky-line. Exactly opposite, on the right-hand side of the ghyll, is the Great Chimney, a black and formidable square-walled recess crowned by a jammed boulder. This was for a long time regarded as impossible and scarcely ever attacked, but at last it yielded to the combined ingenuity of Messrs. Blake and Southall, and has since shown itself to be very amenable when approached with due precaution.

First pitch, New route.—The Christmas Day of 1896 was very windy and cold. Our party had fought continually against the weather all the way to Deep Ghyll, and inasmuch as we had only the previous day arrived at Wastdale our limbs were scarcely fit for such a desperate grind. I had the pleasurable responsibility of guiding a lady, Mrs. H., who had been persuaded to accompany her husband on a winter excursion. We had a great deal of very soft snow to get through on our way up, and I was looking forward to a long halt in the lower cave, where we should at least be protected from the wind and snow. Great was our distress when we found the entrance completely blocked up by a huge drift. It must have been fully twenty feet deep in front of the cave, and the prospect was most disheartening. In disgust I clambered up the wall immediately to the right of the boulder, and at last managed to reach the aperture leading into the cave from above. It was festooned with huge icicles, and at first the entrance looked effectually blocked. Smashing down the ice with the energy of despair, the tremendous clatter suggesting to my friends that of a bull in a hardware shop, I discovered that the chimney was only iced at its entrance, and that the upper storey of the cave could be reached. Some of the others quickly followed, and we found ourselves in a spacious chamber into which the great heap of snow had scarcely encroached. This was delightful. We threw ourselves into the drift that blocked the main entrance, and cut away at it with vigour till at last we had tunnelled through to the daylight. The biggest man of the party yet remained outside and we persuaded him to insert his legs into the aperture. Without giving him time to change his mind we seized his boots and hauled hard. For one dread moment we thought him jammed for ever, but immediately afterwards we found ourselves lying on our backs in the cave with a yawning opening in the snow-drift, the while our massive friend measured his diminished circumference with a loop of rope. The others then came in and made themselves at home on ropes, ice-axes, and other people’s cameras. We were a party of ten, large enough to be a merry one. Our surroundings were weird and savage, unlike the British notions for a Christmas Day, but I remember that we behaved like civilized people in perhaps one respect. We discussed the year’s literature. Fancy Troglodytes discussing ‘Trilby’! Then it occurred to us that our feet were very cold, and that we should not have much daylight for climbing if we waited longer. Our intention had been to climb Deep Ghyll in two separate parties, by the ordinary way. But the drift suggested a trial of the crack up the left-hand side of the first pitch. The snow would serve as a high take-off, and also a good cushion to soften the fall if the leader were destined to fail. The first difficulty was to get safely into the crack; then it was found that the holds were very scarce, and the recess somewhat too constricted to allow any bracing across from one side to the other.

Think of a foothold; double it. Put your whole weight on to it as you straighten out. Take away the hold you thought of, and you will find yourself wondering how you got there. In some such vague way are very bad bits climbed, and while gasping for breath at the top the climber usually feels that it was the worst place he has ever been in. Seriously, however, this route is severe at all times. In summer the drift is absent, but with rocks slightly wet, as they usually are in that corner, the effort of working upwards is extreme. It is probably best to keep one’s back to the boulder all the way up.

My section of the party came up first. We were very cold, and some fear that Mrs. H. would have frost-bite prompted us to change our minds concerning Deep Ghyll, and to traverse away to the left towards the foot of Steep Ghyll. The others came up the pitch by our route, led in good style by Mr. H. V. Reade. They expressed regret at our untimely departure, and worked laboriously up the ghyll. It was ungenerous of us that evening to gloat over the fact that they had had a terribly cold time of it higher up.

Our route out of the ghyll was known to Mr. Haskett Smith in 1882. It is not often used, and, indeed, in winter it offers certain risks of its own. Starting from the top of the pitch we bore directly down towards the entrance to Lord’s Rake, and when within a reasonable distance of the snow, jumped down to it, sinking in up to our necks. Hurrying down to Hollow Stones as fast as our limbs would carry us, we endured the pangs of returning circulation in our hands and feet, and finished the descent in exhilaration, and with a sense of having well earned our share of the Christmas festivities.

Second pitch, Variety routes.—A description of the direct way over the second pitch is scarcely necessary. The leader must start just at the entrance to the cave, and work up the corner to the recess between the jammed stone and the cave boulder. The holds are minute, and the necessary stress on the finger tips excessive. He should try it first when there is snow below him, and with his second arranged to pay out twenty feet of rope from the innermost corner of the cave. If the leader is destined to slip, it will take place at the point where the slope suddenly becomes easier, for then his fingers are fatigued, his centre of gravity wants for the first time an onward as well as an upward motion, and his foothold will fail him at the crisis. Therefore his centre of gravity will describe the ordinary parabola back into the snow, and the tremendous jerk on the rope will make the man wonder whether the remains of his centre of gravity are worth retaining. Supposing that he has safely rounded this awkward edge, the utmost caution is necessary for six feet till the scree is reached. Then comes the trouble of manipulating the rope without shaking down stones on the next man who is to pass up. If the leader wants the rope to be in actual tension on his account, he has a hard task in bracing himself firmly without dislodging the scree from under his feet. This trouble of course is minimised when good firm snow can be cut to supply him a footing.

On the whole this direct route over the second pitch may be regarded as too risky, except under the best possible circumstances—such, for example, as existed when Messrs. Robinson and Creak found the two pitches in Deep Ghyll entirely covered with snow, and an easy route available straight up the middle from bottom to top. Then there was no second pitch!

The chimney on the right is excellent, but is not a course open to beginners. It is in two parts. At the two places where it must be quitted the route lies up the buttress on the left. I recall the remark of an unenterprising follower as he looked up at the vertical walls above him; he had been in difficulty down below and was inquiring my intentions. His patience had been all but exhausted, and he said so, adding: ‘It is not merely steep parts that so upset me. They can be borne, but I don’t like this infernal dangling.’ The discussion was diverted into a side issue, as to whether the adjective was permissible, but in justice to his memory—he never visited the Lakes again—be it said that very few climbers like the sensation of suspense.

The Great Chimney.—The position of this has already been defined. Its ascent affords the best finish to the Deep Ghyll climb if snow is absent from the gully and the screes are wearisome. The aspect of the chimney is most forbidding from below, and there is probably but one way of vanquishing it. I had been told how the first party had proceeded up it, and had also heard an account of their defeat at a second attempt. There is much likelihood of defeat even when one knows the way, by reason of the awkwardness of the corner that needs careful negotiation, and I am bound to admit that a first ascent rapidly accomplished may help the climber very little in his second attempt. At the time of my visit the rocks were warm and dry, our party of three had just come up Collier’s Climb, and were keen on completing their knowledge of Scawfell by making for the only chimney with which they were unacquainted. We all gathered together high up in the recess, and then, when the rope had been satisfactorily arranged for a long run out, I started working up the right wall by some small but strong ledges till the roof of the cavern was approached. Then it became necessary to work out of the cave and round by the jammed stone. Just outside was a ledge within reach for the hands; but to work the body up the corner so as to kneel on the ledge was very awkward, the main trouble arising from the depressing effect of the corner of the jammed stone which forced head and shoulders almost to the level of one’s feet. The prayerful attitude realized, I could anchor myself a little by looping the rope round a stone in the roof and had then only to stand up and clamber between the boulder and the living rock, trusting to footholds on the latter. A few feet landed me in safety and the others came up like smoke, carrying my cap that the gymnastics round the corner had shaken down to them. A short scree and a few easy rocks completed the gully, which both in regard to the aspect from above and to the form of its one great difficulty reminded us of the Shamrock Gully over in Ennerdale. The main differences in these two pitches are that the Shamrock Gully pitch looks easier but proves to be harder, also that it has less cave and more boulder. Neither pitch is suitable for beginners.

By walking across to the foot of the lower part of Professor’s Chimney—a name, by the way, given first to the easy exit on the right of Pisgah—a pitch of some severity can be taken or left, as fancy dictates. The platform above this pitch leads well into the chimney and the climb again gets stiff. A direct ascent of the pinnacle is probably feasible from this level, but the first thirty feet will need the utmost enterprise on the part of the daring aspirant to fresh honours in this well-explored region.

The Professor’s Chimney.—This looks almost as difficult as the Great Chimney opposite, but is more a test of style than skill, the only trouble being that of loose rocks. Though unworthy of perfect confidence at all times, it may become most friendly in times of frost; many loose stones occur that can be safely pressed though dangerous to pull, so that with a slight modification of style they are rendered highly useful. Then of course two loose stones may share one’s weight when one cannot take it.

The introduction of all this elementary practical mountaineering is due to my recollection of a huge stone that came away near the top of the Professor’s Chimney when my party were coming up it. I was out of harm’s way on the Jordan above, but in wrestling with the last part of the chimney, a portion that slightly overhangs, the second in the party pulled away the rock. It bounded down, ricochetting from side to side, and for a moment placed the startled climbers in imminent peril.

In conclusion, just a word to pedestrians who have come out to climb only by telescope. The ascent of Scawfell from the Lord’s Rake may be safely and rapidly accomplished by following its lead past the entrance to Deep Ghyll.

The best plan is to keep as straight a course on the scree as the up-and-down nature of the Rake will permit, with the steep rocks immediately on the left. A pinnacle is almost at once passed on the right that in former times was oft mistaken by the unlearned for the great Scawfell Pinnacle, more especially because a cairn had been erected on its crest as a decoy, by the wily discoverer of the true pinnacle. Then it becomes necessary to descend a little, taking care not to slither down to the right with the loose debris. After a few yards the slope again rises for a while, and an easy gully shortly discloses itself on the left, following which the tourist will find himself in a few minutes on the stony plateau that at an easy inclination travels away westward to Burnmoor. In clear weather he will see the huge cairn that crowns the top of Scawfell, at a slight elevation above the top of the gully, and can safely make a bee-line for it. Climbers often descend by this route in bad weather when the Broad Stand appears to elude their anxious search.

The quickest way down from Scawfell is to make for the head of this gully, and then, instead of descending, leave it on the right and follow the edge of cliff straight towards the head of Wastwater; where the edge is deflected to the left, a scree-run to the foot of Brown Tongue takes us over rough but safe ground to the diminutive footpath that starts at the stone wall. It should be learnt first in clear weather, if possible, as there is no royal road to safety for the befogged novice on the fells.

CHAPTER III
THE RAKE’S PROGRESS AND CERTAIN SHORT CLIMBS NEAR IT

The Rake’s Progress.—This happy title dates from about 1881. The Progress is an easy ledge leading from the lower end of the Lord’s Rake to the point where the Mickledore ridge joins the main mass of Scawfell. It runs along the base of the vertical walls of this mountain, and though at a great elevation above the huge Mickledore hollow, is scarcely entitled to the thrilling adjective vertigineuse of the French climbing vocabulary. Yet it is capable of carrying one into the finest situations; and even the hardened expert, with his steady head and well-trained muscles, realises while on it that danger is hovering about him at every step, though it does not touch him. Years ago I read, in Freshfield’s ‘Italian Alps,’ of the Pelmo traverse in the Ampezzo Dolomites, and memory seized on the Rake’s Progress as the nearest approach to it that mountain experience had then afforded. Let there be no rise on the Mickledore; make the Progress thrice as long, and a little more rakish; change the rock from porphyry to magnesian limestone; let the drop below the ledge be a few hundred feet instead of a few score; make it necessary to crawl on all fours in one or two corners, and the resemblance will be perfect! In a few yards after the preliminary scramble on to the ledge, the crags are broken on our right by the short chimney entrances to Steep Ghyll and Moss Ghyll. These cannot be mistaken, inasmuch as they mark the last possible points of attack on these cliffs for one-half of the traverse.

Passing the entrance to Moss Ghyll, to which we must return for the ascent of this fine gully, a steep rise marks the accomplishment of one-third of the course. A little further a thin cleft cuts obliquely up the cliff towards the left. It is wonderfully straight, and the slabs of rock on either side are hopelessly smooth. The crack widens higher up, but until 1897 the terrific simplicity of its lower portion had warned off all who examined it with the view of storming this side of Scawfell. The upper half, reached by an ingenious zig-zag route on the face, is now well known as one of the safest and best climbs on Scawfell. Shortly afterwards we reach a rectangular recess looking as though it had been quarried for a gigantic monolith. Here again the great difficulty of starting up is manifested at a glance, though in the same direction up above the recess is so much more deeply cut and the sides so much nearer to each other that one’s safety is assured for the second half of the climb. In this case also, the middle is reached by a slight detour on the left. A few yards further along the Progress are two thin cracks uniting at a height of twenty feet and leading to a platform ten feet higher. Thence a perfectly safe cleft passes directly up for another forty feet, till a grassy ledge, clearly visible only when marked by snow, takes one easily to the middle of the long chimney. To mount the chimney is an undertaking well within the powers of the average rock-climber, and with the additional merit of being perfectly safe for a party of three.

Such are the Keswick Brothers’ Climb and Collier’s Climb, two of the best conceived problems of the district and worthy of their discoverers. The lower half of the latter is undeniably severe; even the best have failed at it, and I propose in a separate section to describe an ascent in detail, to point out the method our party adopted to eliminate the risk that the climber is popularly supposed to accept as inevitable, and to indicate how the Keswick Brothers’ route enables us to avoid the worst piece altogether.

The next halt we make close to the Mickledore, within thirty-five feet of the end of the Progress. Here a thin cleft, known as Petty’s Rift for the last twenty years, leads to a square recess ten feet up, and marks the start of the North or Penrith Climb up the Scawfell crags. These are now only a few score feet above us. The illustration facing page 26 shows how the upper outline of the cliff and the Mickledore ridge approach to within a few feet of each other.

Having reached the Mickledore ridge it is well worth while walking along it to its furthest end, and then bearing to the left on to the Pulpit rock, for the sake of the fine view of the climbs we have just been enumerating. The Eskdale side of Scawfell is terminated by an abrupt vertical cliff that seemingly offers no sort of route for the cragsman. Half way down to the corner of this cliff, a gully cuts deeply into the mountain, and passes upwards at an apparent angle of 45° towards the tops of Moss Ghyll and Collier’s Climb.

The gully—Scawfell Chimney or Mickledore Chimney, as it is sometimes distinctively called—has its own peculiar difficulties in wet or snowy weather, but when at its best it may be attacked by comparatively inexperienced men, if they are properly equipped and exercise ordinary precautions. On the other hand, the gully represents the drainage channel for a considerable area, and is usually wet.

Undoubtedly the easiest way from Mickledore up to the ridge facing us is by the Broad Stand. The start is made in the cleft half way between Mickledore and the foot of Scawfell Chimney. Three short pitches, each less than ten feet, take us on to an easy slope that can be followed to the upper part of the chimney. To keep up between the chimney on our left and the steep cliffs to our right is an easy matter in clear weather, till Pisgah appears on our right, the descent into Deep Ghyll straight in front of us, and the cairn-crowned summit of the mountain a hundred yards away towards the left.

This finishes the preliminary survey of the eastern face of Scawfell, during the perusal of which the reader is recommended to examine the diagram facing page 46.

The Broad Stand.—My first climb in the Lake District was up the Broad Stand. Dr. S. and I had planned a week’s walking tour over the Cumberland fells, guided by Baddeley and Jenkinson, and ignorant of the existence of any regular rock practice hereabouts. We walked up from Langdale one Sunday morning in heavy snow to the top of Rossett Ghyll, and then studied the guide book for information concerning the small tarn that lay a few feet beneath us. ‘Deep and clear, and good for bathing,’ we read; so we bathed. It was long ago, and neither of us has bathed during a snowstorm since. Our feet got benumbed standing on the snow while we were dressing ourselves, and we had much ado to restore circulation. Then as the day advanced and the air cleared a little, it seemed possible that we might find a way up Scawfell Pikes, which, we had read, was the highest point in England. With much ploughing through soft snow, loaded with heavy knapsacks, and supported by but one broken walking stick, we reached the topmost cairn in perfect safety and realised the height of that Easter ambition. Then it was that Dr. S. read aloud to me a thrilling description of the Mickledore chasm, which presented an almost impassable barrier between the Pikes and Scawfell, a terrific gap that only hardy cragsmen of the dales were able to traverse. The ice-cold bath on that Sabbath morn had done much to quench our spirit, but we had partially recovered ourselves, and a burning desire to scale the majestic peak opposite flamed up in each of us simultaneously, and drove us down towards the Pulpit rock that sentinels the Mickledore. The guide-book was not wanting in detail. There were three Ways of attacking Scawfell from Mickledore; first the Chimney, then Broad Stand, and then the Lord’s Rake. I believe we guessed the position of the chimney correctly, for after all there is something to show for the name; but we were hopelessly at sea with the other two. Dr. S. argued that Lord’s Rake sounded so much worse than Broad Stand that we were bound to go for it wherever it might be and however easy its aspect. Nobody at home would believe us if we described a Broad Stand as a vertical wall hundreds of feet in height, glistening with ice, and guarded above by overhanging boulders ready to pulverise the bold invader. On the other hand, the Lord’s Rake seemed remotely to suggest Jacob’s Ladder, and offered the imagination a goodly choice of adjective and epithet. Where, then, was the Lord’s Rake? We had little time to consider, and rapidly decided that the Broad Stand was away down in Eskdale on the left, and the Lord’s Rake straight up from Mickledore. Wherein we were wrong, as the previous pages may show the reader. Then we tried to get up the wall just where the Mickledore ridge strikes the cliff, but the cold soon drove us to seek some easier start lower on the left. Thus it was that fate took us to the actual Broad Stand, up which, inexperienced though we were, we could scarcely help finding the correct route. Place a man at the right starting point, and he will easily find the upward line of least resistance, though not so swiftly as he would trace out the downward line if he slipped.

Twelve yards down from the Mickledore we came to a deep recess in the mountain side, large enough to penetrate if one is not burdened with a knapsack. (A confirmation of the right spot is supplied by a thinner crack six feet lower down the screes.) Wriggling up into the recess and then out on to the slightly sloping platform above it was a matter of only a few seconds, and we then found facing us a wall of from eight to ten feet in height offering very little hand or foothold for a direct attack. But by descending the sloping grassy ledge at its foot we could see some iced ledges (clear rocks show the marks of many boots) that suggested the circumvention of the difficulty. To these we in turn trusted ourselves, and by passing round the somewhat awkward left-hand corner of the wall we found an easy though steep route to its flat top. Then a smaller wall of about seven feet barred the way. It was easier than the last, though in those days the frost had not scooped out the hollow on the edge, and by the help of my comrade’s shoulders I reached the summit. The difficulties were obviously over; we could walk up by the right on to the snow slope, above which, as our early inspection from the Pulpit rock showed, there was an easy route to the top of Scawfell. Unfortunately my friend was not up the last step. I could not reciprocate his kindness and offer him my shoulders. We had no rope, and the rocks were all glazed. I had not intended to mention our ropeless condition, but the truth will out sooner or later; neither had we nails in our boots. But apparently we had sense enough to realize that an accident might happen if we tempted Providence any further, and with some sorrow we decided to descend again. We found our way down the Mickledore screes and Brown Tongue to Wastdale, and there learnt that we had tried conclusions with the Broad Stand at its worst. We also learnt that from the top of the third step which I had reached the route lay up the snow slope to the broken rocks, then slightly to the left until the easy part of the chimney could be looked into, then obliquely up to the right over rough ground to the small cairn overlooking Deep Ghyll. Many times since then, rattling down the Broad Stand when the rocks were dry and our party well acquainted with every inch of the ground, have we recalled that Easter Sunday and our first essay of the Broad Stand. There have also been many occasions to remember the golden rule in the descent of these crags. First find the top of the Scawfell Chimney; keep it on the right till its one pitch is just below. Then bear to the left down the grassy slope and hunt for the notch in the top step of the Broad Stand.

The usual thing in a fog is to find oneself down in Eskdale. I remember a photographic friend once leaving his camera at the foot of Deep Ghyll while he went for an hour’s round of Lord’s Rake, Scawfell Cairn, and the Broad Stand. The dense mountain mists gathered about him at the top, and rendered useless his efforts to steer the true course. That night he discovered himself at Boot, and three days elapsed before he found his camera, suffering from the effects of over-exposure as much as himself.

The North Climb.—This starts at Petty’s Rift, already referred to on page 31, about twelve yards from Mickledore along the Rake’s Progress. From a distance it looks as though the climb would necessarily include the funnel-shaped gully below the Progress, and the whole aspect of the work is somewhat forbidding. Nevertheless the difficulties are concentrated in the first six feet. When once the climber can get a foot on to the floor of the little square recess, his safety is assured. In the photograph facing page 40 the positions of the three members of the party indicate sufficiently well the course usually taken. The last man is taking off with his left foot, and has his right hand at the edge of the recess on to which he intends to climb. The face is very exposed in wintry weather, and several stories are told of parties who have suffered here from frostbite. It is not a safe place to descend when ice is about the rocks.

The following account of the North or Penrith Climb is taken from Mr. C. N. Williamson’s article in ‘All the Year Round.’ Introducing, as it does, Mr. Seatree’s original description, I make no apology for quoting it in full: ‘There is yet another and a more direct way of climbing the Scawfell cliffs from Mickledore, which, for want of a better name, we may christen the “North Climb.” The route is known to very few. It was discovered for himself in 1874 by Mr. George Seatree.... Major Cundill had already climbed it in 1869.

‘From the ridge we traversed a ledge of grass-covered rock (the Rake’s Progress) to the right until we reached a detached boulder, stepping upon which we were enabled to get handhold of a crevice six or seven feet from where we stood. To draw ourselves up so as to get our feet upon this was the difficulty. There is only one small foothold in that distance, and to have slipped here would have precipitated the climber many feet below. Having succeeded in gaining this foothold, we found ourselves in a small rectangular recess with barely room to turn round. From here it was necessary to draw ourselves carefully over two other ledges into a small rift in the rocks, and then traverse on our hands and knees another narrow ledge of almost eight feet to the left, which brought us nearly in a line with the Mickledore ridge. From here all was comparatively smooth sailing.

‘The detached boulder may be identified with certainty by noticing that it is imbedded in the Rake’s Progress close to the top of a funnel-shaped grassy gully about ten or twelve yards from Mickledore. None but experienced climbers should attempt the North Climb from the Mickledore.’

Scawfell Chimney.—A year after our first sorry attempt on Broad Stand Dr. S. and I were being shown the merits of Cust’s gully on Great End as a school for step-cutting, by an enthusiastic wielder of the ice-axe, Mr. C. G. Monro. Neither of us knew much about the subject, but it was pleasant to be well instructed, and on reaching the summit of Great End we wondered where we could cut steps next. Monro suggested an adjournment for lunch at Mickledore and a subsequent passage up the doubtless snow-filled chimney: to which we all agreed.

On reaching the chimney, Monro took the lead and hopefully ploughed through heavy wet snow as a preliminary. Unfortunately, the snow became softer and deeper as we advanced, until at last we were up to our waists in slush, and wet through. The pitch was not very far to seek. We saw long dripping icicles barring our direct route onwards. Both sides of the gully were heavily glazed with wet ice, and we foresaw an anxious time of waiting while the leader prospected. At the time we were not aware that the usual exit was upon the right-hand side of the pitch, by a couple of easy broad ledges. Nor could we see that the pitch was in two parts, cave upon cave, with a large resting-place between; for the icicles hung in an impenetrable curtain. Monro attacked the icicles valiantly. Twice he succeeded in working half way up between the centre and left wall, but twice he was repulsed vigorously, and found himself landed in the snow below. I was getting cold and impatient. Monro was willing to take a breathing space. I unroped and made for the left wall. Cutting little steps for hands and feet in the ice that covered the wall, and using the fingers for all they were worth, in some ungainly fashion I reached the level of the top of the pitch and traversed on to the snow above. The axe had been used, I suspect, more like a croquet mallet than anything else, and introduced its own particular dangers. But it was of no consequence, the pitch was climbed, and the shivering pair below tried to fling up the rope to me. This was a matter of much difficulty, placed as we were, but by approaching each other as far as we dared, a happy fling brought the end of the rope to my hand, and I responded by throwing down, to their extreme peril, the ice-axe that they needed to effect their ascent. We managed the rest badly. My position was insecure in the upper snow of the gully, or at any rate it seemed to be so. The others were benumbed with cold and wet, unable to feel the holds or to rely on getting any help from me. We certainly were not a strong party, and there was no possibility of mutual aid. The only consolation was in the fact that all danger was absent; a fall could only result in a plunge into ten feet of soft snow, but we never afterwards spoke with pride of that afternoon’s work. The other two decided to give it up, and go down to Mickledore again. My own feelings were not consulted, but what matter? The Broad Stand was somewhere about. I might descend that way and shout when in trouble. We joined again at Mickledore, and rather gloomily glissaded to Hollow Stones.