The chief arêtes on the face are, taking them in order from east to west, the Needle ridge immediately to the right of the Needle Gully; the Eagle’s Nest ridge between the Eagle’s Nest Gully and the Needle Gully; and the Arrowhead ridge between the Eagle’s Nest Gully and the Arrowhead Gully. All these arêtes offer most enjoyable climbs. The Gable Needle (or Napes Needle) is a sharp pinnacle rising vertically from the lower part of the Needle ridge. It is a climb for experts only, with steady heads. The Bear rock is a smaller pinnacle a few yards to the west of the foot of Arrowhead Gully. Its ascent is a simple problem in rock-climbing—a pull up with the arms from the notch at the back—but it is worth visiting on account of its singular aspect.

The Arrowhead Gully is almost entirely devoid of interest. It has not often been visited, for the reason that its material is loose, its one pitch is easy, and the neighbourhood is very rich in more inviting climbs. A large party went up it last April and were exceedingly unhappy so long as a single member remained in it. Our interest had been concentrated on the Eagle’s Nest ridge, and after some considerable time had been spent about the crags, we found ourselves at the foot of the Arrowhead Gully, afflicted with the unanimous desire to reach the summit of the Napes by a way that none of us had attempted before. There remained to us this gully and its branch up by the left. It soon became manifest that we should have to divide, for the place was too small to hold us, and too narrow to permit free passage of loose stones that the higher members almost immediately began to dislodge. We lunched a few feet up the left branch, and were decidedly uncomfortable during our hasty meal. The ledges that we had chosen were so uncertain and the scree below so steep that all were glad when the sandwiches were finished and preparations commenced for roping-up. My own section of the party elected to follow the branch to its abrupt ending out on the face. The others kept to the main gully, and were busy chimney-sweeping most of their time. Their one pitch was straightforward, but loose blocks abounded and required careful treatment so long as their fall might endanger the safety of any one. Over would go a boulder as soon as the last man had passed it, smashing from side to side, and we in our gully vaguely wondered, at each successive bombardment of the Arrowhead, whether it would not be fair to give the next comers the credit of trying a new climb; the old gully was rapidly altering, and the change in its ancient landmarks testifying to the influence of man as a geological agent. But in spite of their extensive quarrying operations they reached their destination before us. We found that our variation involved some good climbing, spoilt, however, by a plentiful supply of dangerous débris on all its available ledges. I was leading, and therefore safe from bombardment; but those below me were now and again peppered, and my feelings hurt by their objurgations. Those who read this book as a literary production will, no doubt, sympathise with the writer in his difficulties with so limited a vocabulary as climbing affords. That words of primary importance are few is a fact patent to all students of the “Alpine Journal.” But in moments of excitement the climber is urged to expand his limits, and to call on other sciences (notably the theological) for suitable expressions that will relieve his feelings.

We started by working up on the right to a ledge at the foot of the big pitch. Then followed a traverse across to a short chimney on the other side. This chimney was obviously a possible route, but for greater safety and in order to avoid a lengthening of the rope between the second man and myself, I worked up for a few feet and then rounded the buttress into the central portion of the gully, where a second crack started upwards. Six feet higher this crack terminated at the same level as the left-hand chimney, and some dangerously loose grass holds helped me to drag up into a small cave where moderate anchorage could be obtained. Unfortunately a block as large as my fist managed to escape past me and to attack deliberately the unlucky member of our party. He, poor man! has the reputation of never being missed by a vagrant stone, and on this occasion he was hit rather badly on the head. It was no use hurrying, but we feared a faint, and when two of us were squeezed well into the cave, the wounded man was engineered up to our level. He was a bit dazed, but on the whole seemed moderately jubilant at this latest proof of his case-hardened condition. When reassured as to his welfare we wriggled clumsily out of the narrow cave, feet foremost, and made our way easily by the left wall to the roof of the cave and the top of the pitch. The rest of the gully was little more than mere walking, and a few minutes later we joined our friends on the crest of the Napes.

The Needle Gully has rather a bad reputation. My personal experience of it has not been altogether pleasant. I tried it in January, 1893, with the enterprising classic referred to in my account of the Oblique Chimney, and found the soft snow so troublesome in its steepness and want of tenacity that we decided to leave the gully for some more auspicious occasion. The opportunity came in the following August, after an ascent of the Needle, and with it came the conviction that in dry weather the gully possesses no interest to the climber pure and simple, if such an anomaly exists, but that it should be visited by those who take pleasure in rock scenery. The Eagle’s Nest ridge is a marvellously fine sweep of clean-cut rock bounding the western wall of the gully. The jagged outline of the Needle ridge on the eastern side is scarcely inferior in grandeur.

We found two easy pitches to begin with, taking us to about the level of the Needle summit. Then a vertical wall interposed itself directly in our way. We scrambled in or near a slight cleft on our right, using rather treacherous grass-covered ledges, and distributing our weight over as many points of support as possible. That portion of the pitch was only about three feet high, and then came a momentary ‘easy’ before another steep little bit of eight feet. The resting place is just large enough for one man. At the top of the second piece a ledge led round by the left past an awkward corner that seemed to alarm our more substantial members by its narrowness, and then two or three steep grass steps had to be taken directly upwards. There we found a projecting knob forming a convenient saddle for each to anchor as he manipulated the rope for the man below, a deep crack offering itself in the right position for belaying the rope. A foot or two higher, and we were able to traverse back into the bed of the gully, and thence find an easy way up screes and short rock slopes to the top. The climb along the ridge itself to the highest point of the Napes was pleasantly varied. We could readily distinguish the points of articulation of the chief buttresses, for the general angle was too steep to disguise the contours. When close to the connecting ridge between Napes and the Westmorland crags we bore down on to Hell’s Gate screes and crossed over to the opposite rocks to hunt out the little climb up to the Westmorland cairn. This was not so easy to find, and we wasted much time in attempting an attack by some smooth slabs too high up the scree. At last we found that the climb began in a small gully some distance down, which bore upwards a little to the right till a short pinnacle was reached. Then from the neck behind the pinnacle we traversed across the face to the left for a few yards, before climbing hand over hand to the summit ridge. It came as a surprise that the ascent had such neatness; and we were all at the end willing enough to indorse the favourable opinions expressed in the climbing book. Be it remembered that the cairn at the top was built by the brothers Westmorland of Penrith, not for the purpose of indicating the finish of a climb, but to mark the coign of vantage for one of the finest mountain views in the country. Remember also that proposition of a well-known mountaineer that the view from a summit is much the same whatever be the route taken to get there; and apply it by visiting Westmorland cairn to look at the Napes, even if the expedition involves no troublesome climbing.

CHAPTER X
THE RIDGES OF THE GREAT NAPES

The Needle Ridge is usually taken from the foot of the Needle itself. It was explored first in 1884 by Mr. Haskett Smith, who then made a general survey without actually completing the climb. Two years later he effected a descent of the whole route; and in 1887 Mr. Slingsby’s party made the first strict ascent, and were emphatic in their praise of its fine character.

The introductory few feet from the notch behind the Needle are difficult, the problem being to climb up a steep slab of six feet or so to the foot of a slight grass chimney that slopes upwards to the right. Three fingers of the right hand can be inserted in a curious pocket in the slab; rather poor foothold is all that can be found for steadying purposes, and for the rest just enough will manifest itself to enable the climber to cautiously drag himself up to a small ledge, and thence to the foot of the chimney.

This takes him easily to about the level of the top of the Needle. There a poised block is passed on the left, that used to give trouble. I once saw my leader attempt to climb directly over it. When in the very act of pulling himself on to its upper surface it slowly swung round, as if pivoted at each extremity. Fortunately he was not tempted to let go, and it readjusted itself in a firmer position without quitting its niche. My friend led no more that day, and we afterwards solemnly warned folks against the boulder variation. The stone is yet there and is still insecure, but climbers pass round by the right and then work back on to the edge of the arête and up to the foot of the vertical wall that begins the second part of the climb. It is not unusual for the first part to take so long a time in severe weather as to convince a prudent party that it is expedient to utilize a grass traverse into the Needle Gully that here discloses itself on the left. This ledge takes them safely to a point in the bed of the gully above the chief pitch, and within a few minutes’ easy scrambling of the top.

The first part of the Needle Ridge may be neatly varied by climbing the buttress up from the gully, or by working across to the same buttress from the Needle notch. These variations are a little harder than the usual climb, but both are safe in dry weather.

As illustrating the way not to use a rope, an amusing story is told of the first difficulty on the Needle ridge. Two young fellows had walked up to the foot of the gully with another party of climbers, and had lazily discussed their lunch and their plans for the day while the others were busy on the Needle. After deciding that they knew the Needle too well to learn anything by climbing it, they went on to examine critically, from a distance, the Eagle’s Nest opposite and to point out the way that they would insure their own safety in an attack on it. They scoffed at its reputed severity, and would really have then and there shown the neatest method of vanquishing it. On the other hand, it was a warm day, and they felt a little slack. Perhaps the Needle Ridge would tickle their jaded appetites a bit. Yes! they would walk up the ridge and get some fresh air 400 feet higher. Then they tossed up for leadership, and tied on their forty feet rope—one man at each end. Away went the leader from the notch, over the slab and up the chimney. When at the end of his rope it occurred to him to look back and see what his companion was doing. The poor fellow had stuck at the slab, and was in imminent danger of falling backwards. ‘Good gracious, man, what are you thinking of?’ shouted the indignant leader. ‘I am not going to be pulled down for any one!’ and promptly began to unrope himself. Then the man who tells the story hurried up from below, and fortunately arrived in time to prevent a catastrophe. Such an aspect of the utility of the rope need scarcely be commented upon, but I was not surprised a day or two after hearing the story to be characterized by a non-climbing acquaintance in town as a desperate venturesome individual, one who went about climbing mountains with a rope. By non-climbers a rope must indeed be regarded as a source of danger.

The plainest view of the upper platform of the Needle and the awkward corner that rises from it is to be had at the expense of a few minutes’ digression from the ridge. It is best to climb from the top of the grass chimney over to the right, and then down a steep and loose recess to a grass platform. A photograph of the Needle from this point of view has been published, and is an interesting one to study.

The second part of the Needle Ridge begins with a vertical wall of rock that from below appears very formidable. With ice about it is certainly difficult, and the traverse to the gully on the left is the wisest course to pursue under such conditions. But on close inspection a square corner discloses itself in the wall, and the fifteen feet of scrambling in the cleft are perfectly straightforward. At the top of the wall the ridge is broken up in a wonderful way, and huge blocks are distributed along the route in great profusion. The climbing becomes very easy, though retaining its interest to the finish at the top of the Napes; and the whole ascent may be disposed of summarily in half an hour from the Needle notch.

The Eagle’s Nest Ridge was climbed on April 15, 1892, by a strong party of cragsmen. They were led by Mr. G. A. Solly, who was well backed up by Mr. Cecil Slingsby. They left a record of the expedition in the Wastdale book, and let the climbing fraternity decide for themselves as to whether the ascent was worth repeating. No exception can be taken to the rocks, which are perfectly sound and reliable, but an inspection of the ridge from the Needle shows how little hold there is for hands or feet. Moreover, the hardest part is so situated that a safe descent from it is well-nigh impossible for the unlucky leader who finds his strength or skill inadequate to cope with it. Nevertheless, I have recently discovered that with an exact knowledge of the available holds, and with the best conditions of the rocks, a man may safely tackle the ascent if well supported by a sturdy second. The situation is terribly exposed for the first 140 feet, and will try the nerves of even experienced mountaineers. Dependence is often placed on small footholds that slope slightly to the climber’s disadvantage; and on such ledges good nailed boots and perfect confidence are essential. The fact is that the ridge is not to be recommended; and its virtue is that there is no deception about it. The clean sweep of the sharp nose of rock from the green platform at the foot up to the patch of grass where the slanting chimney begins scares everybody away, tyros and experts alike. That almost vertical buttress looks impossible, and to nearly everybody it is so.

It was a felicitous discovery of Mr. Solly’s, a day later, that the worst part of the arête could be avoided by taking to a chimney a few feet away to the left. Looking up at the ridge from the grass platform at its foot, the appearance presented is that of a vertical face of rock out by two chimneys each about a hundred feet long. The right of these is shallow and open, with tufts of grass interspersed with smooth slabs. Whether it can be climbed or not I have never ascertained. But the left chimney or gully is deeply cut into the wall. Its aspect is ferocious, but its disposition gentle. It can be easily reached and comfortably climbed. Solly’s original route was up the strict arête to the right of both chimneys. The arête to the left of both was investigated at Easter, 1895, and manifested an inclination to yield to the attack of a party. But the party has not yet preferred the attack, and the suggestion may be taken at its worth. Our gully is rather earthy for the first forty feet, and care must be taken by the leader to avoid dislodging stones on those below him. Then the rockholds change in character just above an outstanding pinnacle on the left, and there is an interesting passage into a niche at the back of the gully, a sloping and well-worn hold for the right foot offering the safest support as the body is dragged over into the corner. Hence the route is up the crack for a few feet and across a long slab to the right-hand wall, care being taken with a loose splinter that is generally seized as the handiest grip available. The rest of the gully is of grass and small scree, and at the top a view may be obtained down into the Arrowhead Gully. But for the ridge climb a divergence is made to the right almost immediately after the chimney pitch is passed.

A split is noticed in the arête, forming a small and sharp pinnacle, just below which the shallow, grass-tufted chimney finishes in sorry fashion. The climber passes through the cleft, utilizing a large block that is not quite fixed. On the other side he finds the junction with the original ridge route, ten feet below the finish of the curdling part. His next move is awkward, over a smooth rock with unsatisfactory sloping footholds, but there is no real danger with the second man at the cleft, and the leader reaches the grassy recess where, in the words of the first explorers, the difficulties moderated. It is large enough for two men to brace themselves firmly, and manipulate 150 feet of rope for an enterprising third man who may wish to come up by way of the outside edge.

This route to the recess we shall now briefly describe, suggesting at the same time that no man should attempt to lead up it who has not already explored the ground with the safeguard of a rope from above. From the horizontal grass platform at the foot of the climb a narrow cleft runs up to the ridge in such a way as to separate off the first fifteen feet from the main mass. The cleft is mounted with facility by aid of numerous holds of first-rate quality. At the top we find ourselves on the strict ridge, but after mounting ten feet the holds disappear entirely, and the verticalness of the next seven or eight feet makes a slight divergence absolutely necessary. On the face of the ridge that bounds the Needle Gully below us two parallel cracks run up steeply about a yard apart. They are so closed, and they run so obliquely up the wall, that good foothold is impossible in either, and handhold of even moderate quality requires much seeking. Nevertheless, they are both of immense importance, and are capable of giving all the required aid. The leader should here be joined by the second, and should belay himself to the highest effective part of the broken rock below him. His companion should be belayed independently. Then his next move is to work up for three feet on to the right-hand crack, with his fingers gripping the other, until the latter is felt to be good enough for a pull towards the ridge. The transfer of the right foot into the crack on the left is critical. I prefer to effect the passage without boots, as the toes can feel so much better where the crack is deepest. Then the outside edge a yard away to the left is within reach of the hand, and the leader, cut off from further assistance below, must manage very carefully to climb on to the ridge.

His holds are obvious; the difficulty is not so much in finding the way as in keeping to it. Fortunately a little flat platform is now reached, on which he can sit in comfort and recover his strength before attacking the next part. It is at about the level of the top of the Gable Needle, and Mr. Slingsby tells me it is the spot that the first climbers named the Eagle’s Nest. It is just visible against the sky in the view facing page 153, 3½ inches from the foot of the illustration. The awkward part first ascended is scarcely twelve feet high, but is exceptionally severe if the leader takes it without the assistance of a second.

The consequences of a slip in the next portion of the climb are more serious, but probably it is technically less difficult than the lower bit. The Eagle’s Nest is barely large enough for the leader to brace himself firmly when helping the second man up on the rope, and he may naturally prefer to mount higher without assistance rather than peril the safety of both for the sake of a helping shoulder up the next piece. There are no belaying pins, and traversing to either side of the buttress is seemingly impossible. If he cannot be certain of holding on to the rope when a slip occurs to his follower, he had better decide to advance another fifty feet before the second man moves from his secure position below. The first ten feet above the Nest are remarkable for steepness and smallness of holds. If the rocks are cold and the finger tips benumbed, the holds cannot be appreciated at all, and the place becomes horribly dangerous. Yet there is a sufficiency of grip for hands and feet, and bootmarks can now be detected on the chief ledges. With perfect coolness and the exercise of his best judgment, the solitary leader will gradually mount the ridge step by step, and the tension on his nerves and muscles will be relieved when the level of the narrow pinnacle to the left is reached, and he notices the numerous scratches on the rocks of those who have climbed to the junction by the easy route. Mr. H. C. Bowen and I made the second strict ascent in April, 1898, with 100 feet of rope between us.

At the foot of the slanting chimney it again becomes possible for the leader to obtain assistance from his companions, though he is not the sort of man to require it if he has come up by the difficult way. The climbing is now delightfully safe and interesting. The holds are good and the ridge varied. From the top of the slanting chimney, which can be ascended without trouble, the true arête below looks desperately stiff. The remainder of the climb will be found to consist of alternating horizontal and vertical passages. It is often possible to pass down the grassy ledges on the left, but the ridge is much pleasanter, and in wet weather actually safer. The views down the vertical walls on the right into the Needle Gully are magnificent, and the Needle Ridge is seen at its best.

The first party took two hours and ten minutes to accomplish their ascent. The ridge with the initial variation by the chimney has been climbed in half an hour by a party of three; hunger lent wings, for their lunch was waiting them on Gable.

The Arrowhead Ridge derives its name from a very prominent crag a short distance to the west of the Eagle’s Nest Ridge. It offers a very fine specimen of rock architecture, though the artist photographer has been known to express dissatisfaction at its outline, and to claim artistic license in modifying his pictures to suit his theories. Many of those who have been attracted to the Great Napes in search of the original have been much perplexed at the discrepancy between the old photographs and the modern reality. Some in their wrath have desired to get the photographer and his camera below them in a rickety gully, where, as Dent puts it, no stone is left unturned in their struggle to reach the top.

But if the artist cuts away a few thousand tons of rock from his negative with one fell stroke of his brush, if he commands the sun to stand still and the shadows to move on, if he subjects his angles to the influence of the personal equation of the climber instead of the mere observer, these weaknesses are not to be recorded against him. Mountaineering as a sport owes its advancement far more to the inaccurate descriptions of its literary devotees than to the simple statements of facts of the scientific, and its best pictorial advertisements have been those where art has assisted nature and laughed at science.

This to some extent is what we all need, and what we all understand. From the top of the Kern Knotts’ crack the evidence of a freely hanging rope as to the direction of the vertical actually contradicts one’s best judgment. The Kern Knotts wall is perhaps 15° from the vertical, but looking down it one would judge it perpendicular. Yet we never fancy a foothold horizontal when it is at a slope of 15° to our disadvantage, else the Eagle’s Nest Ridge would lose much of its terror. Rather are we then inclined to magnify the angle, and the actual slope plus our own inclination make together something like the 30° that would figure in a fancy sketch or a popular article.

Education is a marvellously fine thing, and in mountaineering it works wonders. It enables men to interpret the barren truth in accordance with their own experience. Notes of new ascents in the ‘Alpine Journal’ they can enjoy and assimilate; but, as in eating caviare, the taste needs cultivation, and many remain unequal to such food to the ends of their lives. Now because there are many false translations possible of the one true original, it must be easy with a knowledge of the truth to interpret it variously, and correspondingly difficult to get at the correct version from a bad translation. Even the mountaineering education fails to help us. All it does is to give us the taste for truth, and the sense of right to demand the genuine article. It might be printed in italics at the beginning of the chapter, like the usually inappropriate and obscure poetical references, and so isolated from the author’s personal exposition. This text and sermon notion has not, so far as my little library of Alpine books can tell me, been adopted by any popular writer on mountaineering, though the difficulty has been grappled with in other ways. Thus the Alpine historian or geographer may find the required facts neatly gathered together in a brief appendix, or still more briefly summarised in a letter published simultaneously with a review of the book in the ‘Alpine Journal.’

The sale of caviare is strictly limited, and the demand for ‘Alpine Notes and New Ascents’ confined to the few. Hence mountaineering books intended to sell well are written for the uneducated many, not for teaching purposes, but for the satisfaction of their desire for tales of adventure. So long as climbers tolerate this professionalism introduced into mountaineering—and there is every reason why they should in all cases where the professional is recognized as such—they must necessarily give the artist a free hand, whether he writes or paints or takes photographs. Personally I should ask for information as to the treatment of any negative that has been employed for reproduction of pictures. ‘From a photograph by,’ nowadays suggests a bad camera, a shaky tripod, an amateur operator, a cunning artist, and a long purse. But ‘truth is mighty and will prevail,’ so we may as well get on to the Arrowhead.

Viewing this Arrowhead from the easy ground near the Bear rock, it is seen to bear some resemblance to the Gable Needle (see Chapter XI.). In each case the rock forms the lower extremity of a Napes ridge, and its sides are remarkable for their steepness and smoothness. The outside edge of each is broken by a well-marked shoulder, and the head of the Arrow may be fairly well likened to the top overhanging boulder on the Needle. Here, perhaps, the resemblance ends. Certain parts of the climbing on the Arrowhead must be characterized as insecure, whereas the Needle is firm throughout. The former may easily be attacked from the notch behind it, the Needle cannot be similarly treated. The original climb up to the shoulder on the Arrowhead was by a recess on the east side, that up the Needle by a narrow crack on the west. (See photograph facing page 153.)

The first ascent dates from April, 1892, when a large party attacked the rock on the lines just indicated. The lower part of the buttress was mounted by a steep and open recess on the western side, a good climb leading directly to the shoulder half-way up, where the route was joined by the upper end of a corresponding chimney on the other side of the buttress. Thence the climbing was straight up the corner. It was not very difficult, but at a point a few feet below the final bit the rocks were insecure and the situation alarming. The stones are better now than formerly, but great caution must be used. In 1893 another party repeated the ascent, and showed that it was possible by passing round to the gap at the back to continue the climb along the ridge. The usual route nowadays is to reach the ridge by the scree gully between the Arrowhead and the Eagle’s Nest arête, climbing up the side wall to the notch, and so avoiding the Arrowhead itself. The wall is steep, but its ledges are conveniently disposed, and no trouble should be experienced in the ascent. Once on the ridge the climbing is delightful. The holds are good, and the narrowness of the crest along which we pass gives the spice of sensationalism that at all times offers an apology for easy climbing. The actual ascent of the ridge need take but twenty minutes, the descent about half an hour for a party of three, when conditions are favourable. There is one mauvais pas of moderate quality: a wall of ten feet must be mounted to reach the crest of a tower on the ridge. Then follows a long stride across the gap on the other side, and it is sometimes amusing to watch the timid climber who fears that he may not be able to swing the hind leg over when in the colossus attitude half-way across. Above this all difficulties soon disappear; the gullies on either side rapidly rise to our own level, and the ridge ends shortly before the crest of the Napes is reached.

The view facing page 153 shows the Arrowhead at the left-hand top corner, the Eagle’s Nest Ridge against the sky, the lower half of the Needle Ridge, and the Gable Needle itself.

CHAPTER XI
THE GABLE NEEDLE

The best-known rock problem in the district is offered by the Gable Needle. Its position has already been defined. As we walk towards Styhead from Esk Hause the Needle stands out from the west face of the Gable very plainly; but from Wastdale it is almost invisible against the background of the indistinguishable Napes rocks, and only those who know exactly where it should be are bold enough to say where it is. Very few people seem to have seen it before 1886, when Mr. Haskett Smith reached the top, though Mr. Wilson Robinson made a pencil outline-sketch of both the Needle and the Bear rock as long ago as 1828. Many even who were acquainted with the crags of the Napes had not noticed it. The fact is that a face of rock is very apt to look flat and void of detail at a short distance; and it is the joy of the rock-climber to discover its thousand beauties when he engages with it at close quarters.

The Needle is indeed a fine fellow as rocks go—just the sort of ornament for one’s back garden in town, a gymnasium in itself. It has now many admirers. The few footholds on the top boulder bear the marks of many nailed boots, even its smooth face is scored by futile scrapes of the nervous, but it retains its charm for the Wastdale enthusiast. In his dreams he takes a hammer and chisel, and chips away an important hold, and with the dreamer’s ease swarms up the rock unaided. Again a hold is chipped away confidently with the faith that removes mountains, and again he glides up and down; till at last its small top draws him up without effort and he hastens down to Wastdale to invite the attention of climbers to the new edition of the Needle.

Mr. Haskett Smith climbed it alone in 1886 and left a handkerchief on the top. Those who have been once on the Needle will readily believe that this first ascent is one of the most daring things that have been done in the Lake District.

He pointed it out to Mr. John Robinson one day when they were traversing the face of the Napes on to the Needle arête, and they both agreed that it had a future before it, that their successors in the field of climbing would make it their resort and perhaps even build a diminutive shrine on its crest to the discoverer. Nearly three years elapsed before Mr. Geoffrey Hastings made the second ascent. Then, in June, 1889, Mr. F. Wellford climbed it, and Mr. Robinson made the fourth ascent in August. In the following year Professor Marshall’s party attacked the climb, spending three-quarters of an hour in flinging a rope over the summit for the benefit of the leader. On that occasion Miss Koecher reached the top—the first lady, at any rate in modern times, to succeed in doing so.

Dr. S. and I travelled down to Drigg one night. We breakfasted there early and walked the twelve miles to Wastdale, halting only for a plunge into cold Wastwater. After the manner of our kind, we inquired at once for the Climbing Book, to learn the latest news from the Fells. The ‘Pall Mall Budget’ article of June 5, 1890, on the Needle, had been inserted, and we read how it might be vanquished. In the afternoon we worked our way up to the Napes. Being the more enthusiastic, I found the Needle first, and was breathless on the top of the crack when Dr. S. arrived. He threw a rope up from the small platform (seen at the bottom of the picture facing page 168) and came after me. The crack up the face seemed difficult that first time; most people find it so. The first movement obliquely up to the left is easy, but the next part is a trifle too safe for the new comer. He gets his left thigh almost hopelessly jammed into the crack, and can move neither up nor down. The best plan is to work more with the left foot and knee in the crack, both hands on the edge of the leaf of rock, and the right leg getting general support by pressure outside, until the most constricted bit half-way up is passed. Then the leaf of rock can be swarmed up with much greater ease, and the climber soon finds himself looking down the other side of the crack.

From here the route for ten feet is directly up the right edge. The holds are not numerous, but good enough when the rocks are dry, and we find ourselves on a platform or shoulder, very conspicuous in most aspects of the pinnacle, that serves as an excellent take-off for the last struggle. The terrors of the crack often scare off people from the final piece. They almost did our little party. I found my watch-chain broken—some links still remain in the heart of the Needle—and my watch badly dented. The ‘Pall Mall’ had promised us that the last bit was the worst, and we thought for a moment that a little preliminary training for a few days would be the correct thing. However, I took off my boots, for they had no nails, and, standing on a shoulder of Dr. S;, stepped on to the right end of the ledge on which the top block rests. This corner is difficult to climb alone and exceedingly daring work, for the climber drags his body on to it over a sheer drop of a hundred feet, and feels no certainty of safety till he is up. It is like climbing on a narrow mantelshelf five feet high, that is only just wide enough to allow standing room. An ice-axe offers a useful take-off in the absence of a sufficiently responsible shoulder. The disposition of one’s centre of gravity must be carefully considered, and there is a sense of alternate peril and safety in inspiration and expiration. Once on the ledge the game was evidently in our hands, and traversing along it to the left I found a rounded boss of rock eighteen inches higher that offered good hold for both feet. Then the left was brought well up to a little ledge nearly an inch wide, the right hand gripped the right edge of the boulder, and on straightening out the top edge could be grasped. An arm pull was helped by sundry roughnesses for the toes, and I sprawled half across the top triumphantly. In a couple of minutes Dr. S. was by my side. We had no intention of climbing higher that day, and willingly spent half an hour in examining the routes of the Napes’ ridges, two of which are seen to advantage from this spot.

We descended without serious difficulty, Dr. S. going first. I half decided to fix our rope round the top block and use it for my own descent, but it would have been an awkward matter to detach it afterwards. Moreover, others had not found a fixed rope necessary, and we did not wish to have anything to reproach ourselves about subsequently. Dr. S. placed himself firmly on the shoulder, drawing in the rope as it came down. If I fell it would have been on to the rocks a few feet below him; he would experience no great shock, and could easily hold me in. The descent was by the exact route of the ascent. On reaching the crack again we re-adjusted our boots and slid down easily, the remembrance of the leg-clasping constriction preventing our jamming in the descent.

Two or three days later we took other men up the Needle. It was like introducing an old friend. Though I had lost no respect for him, he was easier to manage and offered new features for inspection.

The side of the Needle facing Lingmell exhibits an obvious alternative route to the shoulder. The climbing is twelve or fifteen feet longer, and rather more interesting. Facing the Needle at its foot with our backs to Lingmell, we bear to the right into a square corner. We pass up this on the left to a little level platform, reached best by an armpull and a foothold well away on the buttress. I have seen good men in much trouble on this corner. From here the route is straight up the wall, with a halting-place ten feet higher in a huge slit on the right. Then we climb the same cleft whose other side constitutes the first part of the old route. This side, however, is wider, and contains sundry jammed stones for convenience of passengers. The old route is joined without difficulty, and the shoulder reached as before.

To effect the ascent of the top boulder without help it has always appeared to me easier to start by standing on the small shelf just under the left-hand end of the overhanging part—the shelf, in fact, that is occupied by the sitting figure in the view facing page 168. Practice on ordinary strong mantelshelves enables one to mount up this corner with a certainty of success, the right hand being thrust into a thin horizontal cleft rough enough to offer some friction for the back of the hand as well as the palm.

If people are at the Needle and wish to explore it, they may like to know that Mr. W. H. Fowler has shown that the ‘outside edge’ can be followed from bottom to top. Also, that it is not so difficult to work from the foot of the ordinary route round to the other side of the cleft that splits the Needle. To photograph the Needle we usually get up the other side of the Needle Gully at the foot of the Eagle’s Nest arête. Indeed, this grass ledge is so popular for the observation of a performance that it is known as the ‘dress circle.’ One photograph exists of the Needle in which nearly all the climbing details are masked by a crowd of daring maidens swarming up it. Two have reached the top, and are supporting a terror-stricken man, who, poor fellow, had rashly undertaken to lead up. The picture suggests the old problem of the mediæval theologians—how many angels can balance on the point of a needle?

CHAPTER XII
KERN KNOTTS

Kern Knotts Chimney.—This is one of the prettiest things in the neighbourhood, and it photographs well. The small bunch of hard rock that crops out of the wilderness of scree on this side of the Gable was at one time rarely visited, though so near the actual Styhead path. Its name was almost unknown. I confused it with the Tom Blue crags higher up on the fell. Nowadays the good quality of the chimney attracts many visitors, and several come to see it who do not actually climb. The Knotts are in three parts—Raven Crag, and Upper and Lower Kern Knotts. The middle part is the steepest and longest. A prominent nose or buttress springs down its centre, and is visible in profile at a great distance. The buttress is split off from the main mass by a vertical crack extending from side to side, varying in thickness from three or four inches to a foot.

The chimney had been inspected by earlier climbers before I had ever heard of it. The uninitiated of Wastdale often lament the secretiveness of those who know where new things exist but who keep the knowledge to themselves. Nestor is very reticent, and it is to be counted unto him for righteousness that one Christmas week, after bad weather had deprived us of all the ordinary climbing, he announced to the engineer and me that there was a fascinating little thing, the fancy of an ‘off’ afternoon, lying conveniently close to the hotel, that he would show us how to climb. I was lying on the billiard table just then thinking of the different kinds of nothing. ‘Where is it?’ I asked. ‘In Tom Blue’ was the reply, and as this was yet but a name to me I wondered whether Tom’s blueness measured his difficulty. The engineer was enthusiastic, and declined to allow me to remain longer on the billiard table after hearing this news. So in the gentle rain we marched out of the inn that afternoon, and worked our way up the Styhead path till we had passed the little spring that crosses it near the zig-zag. There we saw the great rocks looming up on the left and were told that Tom Blue awaited us there. The steep slope leading up to our climb was strewn with huge boulders in chaotic confusion. We could either keep to these or else make for an interesting crack in the Lower Kern Knotts that stood directly in our way. To give us a foretaste we took to the crack, finding as usual that its aspect from a distance gave no clue to the wealth of useful detail in the shape of handholds. Then a few yards more of mercurial skipping from boulder to boulder and we reached a little terrace at the foot of the fine wall of the Upper Kern Knotts. Since that day a huge cairn has grown up on this terrace at an astonishing rate of development, to mark the beginning of the climb. Perhaps by the date of publication of this volume the cairn will have grown to rival the crags in height, the climb may be viâ the cairn, and Kern Knotts Chimney blocked up for ever. But for the sake of the afternoon strollers from Wastdale we pray that this may not be. The ascent is apparently in two portions, the lower one being the easier. Actually there is a third pitch, the one of perhaps greatest intrinsic difficulty, starting at the top of the split buttress and quite unnoticeable from below. For this reason the climb must be regarded as deceptive; it is one thing to struggle up the middle pitch with the impression that the worst piece is being tackled, and quite another to find a part of exceptional severity higher up. With that portion impossible the only alternative is to descend again, and that does not commend itself to many men who climb more for amusement than for instruction.

To return to our narrative, we roped up with hopefulness and took to the lowest chimney. The rocks were streaming with water which rapidly discovered that its line of quickest descent was along our arms and bodies, with only a slight delay at the boots while they were filling up. The chimney was sufficiently well provided with small ledges, first in the middle, then on the right-hand side, to enable us to draw up easily. Then we worked round to the foot of the second pitch on a level platform large enough for us all to rest ourselves comfortably. The chimney now became much narrower, just sufficiently large to receive the right thigh. With dry rocks the slight holds on the left wall now facing us would have been ample for the pull up to the level of a jammed stone in the crack; but they were now doubtful, and the obvious course was to insert the right hand beneath the jammed stone and utilize the grip it afforded. A loose block thus handled from within is much less liable to come out than when held by its projecting parts. In a climb where every jammed stone has been tested scores of times, sundry small precautions such as this may be omitted; but a new route should always be attacked with respectful caution, otherwise it may exact a speedy vengeance, and promptly repulse the careless climber.

Just above the level of this useful block, which was immediately proved to be safe enough, the footholds were a short way out of the crack on the left wall, and were not particularly good in the heavy rain. The next ten feet appeared to be very hard, for the only hold was to be by the grip of the right thigh in the crack, and the next jammed stone (on which a climber is standing in the opposite illustration) seemed insecure. It was desirable to pass this without clinging to its outer edges, and to test it when its dislodgment could do no harm. The motion upwards in such a case is rather slow; the leg that does the work must not be thrust too far into the recess, or else the business of balancing is awkward, and the lift at each ‘stroke’ is insufficient. The unemployed foot, as the skater calls it, can often help by a momentary purchase on a minute ledge; even the width of an eighth of an inch will suffice to steady the lift.