The next gully to the right forms the northern boundary of the great central buttress. It is but slightly marked at the lower end and possesses serious difficulties in the first half. We shall call it the Intermediate Gully. It was first climbed in April, 1895, by Messrs. Campbell, and Edward, Albert, and J. H. Hopkinson, and described by the most experienced of their party as the severest climb he had done in the district. Mr. W. J. Williams and I went up it at Easter, 1898, when making a fairly complete survey of all these splendid, but practically unknown gullies.

The Easter Gully now needs localization. It comes next to the preceding and is easy to identify. It has a huge cave pitch near the bottom, then from a great hollow in the crags a vertical chimney springs up over a hundred feet in a right-angled corner; above this the gully divides into two branches, both of which give good climbing until we are nearly at the summit-ridge. Careful inquiry enables me to say that this was first climbed by Messrs. Haskett Smith and Robinson in 1886; they avoided a considerable amount of the trouble, inevitable in a passage of the lower half of the direct ascent, by working up the great buttress on the right, and by traversing back into the gully when the opportunity disclosed itself. The first passage of the gully by the extremely difficult second pitch, and thence directly onwards, was made on Easter Day, 1895, by Messrs. Otto Koecher and Charles Hopkinson, who, however, circumvented the comparatively simple cave pitch at the foot. They thought they were on entirely new ground; so did I when on Easter Day, 1898, Mr. W. J. Williams accompanied me over the first pitch, up a zig-zag course to left and right of the long chimney, and then along the direct finish to the summit.

The sixth and last great gully is known as the North Gully, to see which it is necessary to go well towards Goat’s Hause. Three huge boulders block up the middle and form the only pitch. The gully was formerly supposed to be Messrs. Haskett Smith and Robinson’s climb of 1886; actually it is the place where Haskett Smith was let down on a rope, and gave tribute to the grandeur of the region by remarking on its ‘terrific aspect.’ In 1895 a party went up what they called the North Gully, but they encountered no difficulty during their ascent, and it seems more likely therefore that they climbed a slighter ghyll between the real North Gully and the Easter Gully. They traversed into the latter above its difficult chimney. It is hard to say what exploration has been made here. Mr. Williams and I descended the gully in 1898, and halted there sufficiently to convince ourselves of the feasibility of its ascent. But whether the climb has ever been taken upwards throughout its whole length is an open question.

Climbers should visit Doe Crag more frequently. The rocks give magnificent sport, the scenery is more than ordinarily impressive even to the hardened cragsman, and there yet remains a great amount of exploratory work to be done. Only the gullies have hitherto been tackled. The buttresses are almost untouched.

The Great Gully.—The satisfactory part of this climb is that its greatest difficulty confronts us at the outset. Once the first pitch is accomplished we are perfectly certain that the combined skill of the party is sufficient to insure a successful ascent of the remainder. There is no gradual increase in the technical difficulty of the subsequent passages, to vex the soul of the conscientious climber with doubts as to the morality of advancing, when a critical position might be reached where descent is dangerous and further ascent beyond his powers. The first pitch is severe, and perhaps a little risky for the leader, but the remaining four are easy, and the method of tackling them obvious. This species of gully is suitable for those who tire quickly, or whose impressions of the work before them depend on the height they have attained. On the other hand, there are climbers who like to feel that there is always something serious looming ahead, who want the troubles to last them all through their climb, and rejoice in a bonne bouche at the most elevated situation. Such lingering sweetness they can find in the Central Chimney, but not here; it is not surprising that many men are satisfied with one visit to the Great Gully, and never make for it a second time.

It takes us ten minutes to walk up from the lake to the entrance of the gully. Then a few yards of scree and broken rock lead into a cavern, below a chock-stone that offers much resistance to the direct passage up the pitch. A massive buttress encroaches on the left, and renders the gully almost narrow enough for both sides to be employed together; but close inspection shows that near the top of the pitch the walls are too far apart and the handholds too few. The climber does well to descend a few feet and prospect the buttress itself. This exhibits a safer route (see view on page 225). Close against the side of the vertical left wall the buttress shows a slight fissure, that starts from an easy grass platform and runs steeply up to a level some twelve feet higher than the top of the chock-stone. The difficulty lies in working up the corner, following the crack as much as possible, and taking sufficient care that the body does not swing away from the footholds. A stout individual is likely to feel handicapped at an awkward little ledge half-way up from the grass platform. The fissure can be followed straight up into the gully, but it is easier to contour round the buttress and on to the top of the true pitch. There is excellent belaying for an ascending party, the rope lying along the crack and gripping well at several points. It grips just too well for the safe belaying of the last man in a descent; he had better adopt the dangling method and work straight over the chock-stone. This latter direct route over the obstacle was tried once or twice before 1889, but without success. It was left to the brothers Hopkinson to show in that year that it offered a perfectly safe variation, though probably most climbers will agree that it needs more muscle than is wanted for the crack route. They clambered into the cave and thrust a rope through the small aperture in the roof. When a sufficient quantity had been poked up in that way, it fell over the front of the cave and was available for climbing. But it is very severe work to swarm up a thin rope; in this case there is slight assistance from the sides of the gully, and the transfer of hold from the rope to the rock comes when the arms are tired.

After this difficulty is passed, some yards of scree lead to the second pitch. The gully is narrow, and the block is produced by two boulders one above the other. There is no trouble in working through the cave and on to the lower block, whence an easy pull over the upper stone takes us again to a long line of scree of the impulsive variety. This part of the gully is pleasant only when snow is about, when the ankle-twisting propensities of the scree are not permitted full play.

We are near the point where the gully opens out considerably, sending a branch up on the right. But before that we have to mount two small pitches, the first taken straight up, the second by either right or left wall.

The branch exit on the right has no serious difficulties, but it abounds in loose holds that the climber may find hard to avoid. It leads on to the great middle buttress of Doe Crag, above all its dangerous parts, and within easy access of the summit. The direct ascent of the gully is interesting only at the last step, where a narrow chimney must be passed. Its right boundary is a long smooth slab, unusually deficient in holds. There are three or four wedged stones and the pitch is often wet, but by keeping close into the chimney and working up the right wall the trouble may be overcome. It is always possible, of course, to descend a little and climb out of the gully on the right.

Doe Crag Central Chimney.—This climb is known to very few people. Many are aware in a vague manner that there is splendid climbing on the great buttress of Doe Crag, but only one or two cragsmen have learnt where to go for it. So far as my own experience is concerned it was almost a matter of accident that brought me soon after Easter, 1897, to the foot of the Central Chimney. The previous day had been spent with Messrs. George and Ashley Abraham on Lliwedd, in the Snowdon district, and a tiresome cross-country night journey to Coniston had not tended to put the keenest edge on my hunger for adventure. My companion, Mr. Godfrey Ellis, and I were really intent on ascending by the ‘intermediate gully of terrific aspect,’ down which Mr. Haskett Smith had climbed in 1888. The Central Chimney certainly looked terrific, more so than anything else we could find about there. It was also reasonably intermediate, and we came to the conclusion that our gully was found. Later investigation showed that we had made a mistake, for Haskett Smith’s chimney is at the north end of the crags.

The Central Chimney attracted the attention of Mr. Slingsby in 1887, but apparently ours was the first ascent. Messrs. Broadrick have been up it since, and I have been advised by one of their party that the top of the chief difficulty is dangerously loose.

We had heavy rücksacks to carry over to Wastdale that day, and decided to leave them at the foot of the climb, rather than suffer the inconvenience of dragging them up with us. We had eighty feet of rope, and needed it all near the top.

Our work started easily. Three obvious courses led in about thirty feet to a broad, grassy platform, from which the chimney made its proper beginning. Each of the three ways involved scrambling; they started a few feet to the left of the lowest part of the crags, and formed between them a very fair presentment of a gully entrance. But a glance upwards showed that, for some distance at least, we should have very little of the nature of a gully to guide us. From the platform sprang up the vertical wall that gives the central buttress its appearance of inaccessibility, almost unrelieved for several hundred feet. Our chimney commenced as a thin crack in the wall from the platform, only large enough for a hand to be thrust in, and so sharp-edged that one’s fingers were badly cut in climbing the first five yards. Then the crack seemed to widen gradually until from below it appeared sufficiently broad for wedging. Appearances would have been comforting but for the curious absence of retaining wall on the right-hand side of the crack. The left was excellent; on that side the rock stood out from the corner and formed the finest part of the great buttress. But the right wall was out clean away, leaving smooth slabs that were sure to give trouble when we should find the chimney too shallow for further progress.

I started up the thin crack, and found the strain very severe on the arms. When it became wide enough to support a knee it was possible to halt and prospect a little. The next ten feet up the crack were obviously most difficult, and a glance at the north side showed that it would have been easier to work up the right wall for twenty feet from the platform before traversing into the crack again. Ellis suggested that he should come up to my level by means of a slight fissure in the right wall, and steadied by the rope that I had flung over a small projection some six feet above his head, he managed to reach a shaky, sloping ledge of grass, and then to manœuvre the rope for my own passage to the same resting-place. We next worked upwards into the chimney, and kept close in it for twenty feet or so. There were good holds on the right until some small boulders and débris formed a little platform, over the edge of which we were able to pull ourselves.

The scenery about here was particularly impressive. Our resting-place was scarcely big enough for both, and a glance vertically downwards showed us the spot where we had commenced operations three quarters of an hour previously. The black depths of Goat’s Water formed a striking foreground to the view of Coniston Old Man across the valley, and it almost seemed as though the tarn could be reached by a stone falling from our tiny ledge. Up above us the crags loomed fearfully. They overhung considerably in places, and we saw that our only course was to follow boldly the line of our chimney till it abruptly terminated in the face. Fortunately the weather was good, the rocks dry and warm. To have attempted the chimney with much ice or water about would have been foolhardiness worthy of our wildest days.

From the ledge we found the climbing splendid, keeping up the slight rib of rock on the right that formed the nearly vertical boundary of the chimney. The holds were just sufficiently large to give ample support, especially when the back could rest on the opposite side of the crack. ‘Backing up’ is usually a very constricted performance, with but limited views of the scenery around. Here on Doe Crag it seems as though most of the mountain is cut away excepting those parts of obvious utility to the climber. We crawled round the rib when the crack became too thin, and worked up several feet of slabby rock until the appearances seemed to indicate that an actual gully was now about to manifest itself and commence a fresh run up the wall. We therefore traversed again to the left into a large recess, and after a little scrambling upwards found ourselves brought to a stop by a dead wall. The bed of our recess was loose and steeply sloping. Its sides were slightly iced, and considerable care was needed in settling securely down to consider the situation.

The wall was about twenty feet high and too smooth to climb. On each side of us were huge overhanging buttresses that projected considerably beyond the latter portion of our route. It was not manifest which of these would offer the best way of surmounting the wall, and it might be that neither was suitable. We could see that a traverse out of the difficulty might be made in the northern direction, but it was very exposed and it led too far away from our chimney.

Ellis braced himself firmly at the highest corner of the recess, and manipulated the rope with special care. I started working up between the two buttresses in a manner that recalled to us both the well-known picture of the Funffingerspitze chimney in Sanger-Davies’ book. When some twelve feet above him, it seemed safe to quit the left-hand side altogether, and a stride effected the change of style. But the return was now almost impossible, and in the anxious five minutes that followed I had time to repent the sudden resolve. The top of the wall was within reach, but it was fringed with loose grass tufts that scarcely seemed secure enough to offer purchase in the upward heave that I wanted to give myself. However, the time spent in hesitation was sheer waste, for at the end the pull-up was perfectly safe and easy, and a little wriggling over rock and steep grass brought me to a long terrace, that naturally suggested a halt for the second man’s advance. In good time his head appeared above the grass tufts that formed the limit of my foreground, and a few seconds later he was sitting at my side and speculating as to the length of the difficult piece. The whole climb so far had been veritably one single pitch; we had had no interval of comparative ease, and were now eager to find some temporary freedom.

That we found in perambulating our terrace. It was about a yard wide and fifty feet long, and gave evidence that our gully as such had practically terminated. We found it rather awkward clambering up the wall some thirty feet to another similar terrace. This stretched horizontally from the large ravine that now disclosed itself on our right, and across the face of the mountain towards the Great Gully. The former, we could see, involved some pretty climbing a hundred feet below us. At our level it was merely a scree-walk finishing at the highest part of Doe Crag.

Our route lay up the rocks above the terrace. Two narrow clefts offered choice. We took the one to the right, about fifteen feet long and sufficiently tough to make us remember the place. Then followed easy hand-and-foot work till we could distinguish the branch exit of the Great Gully. Down this we carefully picked our way, and then returned to gather up our belongings and make tracks for distant Wastdale. The round had taken three hours.

The Intermediate Gully.—We had a glorious afternoon for this climb. The previous night had brought us from town to Coniston, and we meant to give ourselves an easy day. But fearing that the weather might change we were tempted to seize the opportunity and start earnest business at once. Identifying the gully as the first to the right of the longest buttress of the crags, we entered it and began scrambling immediately. After five minutes of ‘staircase’ work, using both sides of the gully, we came to a point where the left wall overhung a little and the gully closed in. A flank movement was then effected on the right, over steep rocks and unreliable grass ledges, returning by a narrow traverse into the gully at a point forty feet higher. The second man came straight up, finding two pitches confronting him, both of which he thought we could have taken directly if time had allowed us to risk an attempt. We kept in the ghyll for the next two pitches, both of them fairly simple. A fine flat stone at the top of the second offered a good standpoint for the inspection of the overhanging wall that now faced us. The gully had shrunk again into the merest crack in the wall. My friend called it the extreme pitch of refinement. On our left a smooth right-angled corner that probably thought itself a branch gully led up to the ridge separating us from the Central Chimney. Again it seemed desirable to take to the right by a course that was at any rate feasible, although it took us away from our direct line of ascent. After fifteen feet of traverse the buttress looked accessible, but recollecting the poor holds that we had encountered in a corresponding situation lower down, we went further away still, descending slightly to a level platform where the leader could be belayed during his direct ascent of the wall. Fortunately the rocks were quite dry, as otherwise the work that followed would have been risky. At first the handholds were unsafe, but in ten feet our industrious cleaning away of the grass and earth disclosed an excellent cleft in the wall, safe and sound. Thence the way was pleasanter, swinging upwards towards the left again by immovable rockholds. We had several yards of a narrow ledge tilted upwards at 30° before entering our gully again, and arrived in it just below a little pitch of the type that tries the elbow.

Great caution was now needed. Not that the climbing was difficult or dangerous, but the gully had dwindled into little more than a slight indentation in a vertical wall, and each man had to move with the utmost deliberation. Holds were numerous, generally better on the left wall, but they were all rather wet. Soon we were engaged in a violent struggle with a small angular jammed block that barred our way. It seemed loose at first, but we proved its stability that afternoon by many minutes’ hauling and wrenching from below and above. The chief difficulty was to get the shoulders firmly fixed between the sides of the cleft above the jammed stone; with only the block to hold and no rest for the feet this manœuvre was very awkward to perform. Above this a few steps led to a narrow cave, which we climbed by its right edge and found to be a trying piece of arm work. Here the gully expanded into a large scree-bedded ravine with only two moderately easy obstacles between us and the top of the crag. To our left we could see the ledge that marks the end of the Central Chimney. Our own gully, looking backwards, seemed to be a vertical plunge straight down to the bottom, and as usual we caught ourselves wondering whether anything else could be called difficult after this.

We reached the summit in two hours from the start, and then skirting the lower edge of the crags from Goat’s Hause, we made note of each gully as we passed its foot. An easy scree shoot, followed by a buttress set back at a gentle angle, but with splendid practice on it; the North Gully with its awe-inspiring middle pitch like the great obstacle in Moss Ghyll; a branch gully leading into the North Gully; a second branch, looking rather interesting but lacking definition higher up; the Easter Gully with its double centre portion; the Intermediate Gully; the Central Chimney; and the Great Gully.

The Easter Gully.—The same party came two days later to examine this climb. The weather was very unsettled, and we were forced to the conclusion that the main central chimney was too wet to be approachable. The scrambling was easy up to the cave; then we worked up the vertical left wall by diminutive ledges till the level of the cave stone was ours, whereupon an awkward bit of traverse brought us safely out of the difficulty. We were in the great hollow, and were astonished to find that in addition to the main chimneys on the right and left centre, there were splendid branch gullies up to the ridges on either side.

I started up the left central chimney. It was dry, but its holds were fragile. In forty feet it divided into two parallel branches; that on the left was overhanging, and held a bunch of long splinters of rock forming a dangerous chevaux-de-frise, ready to fall at the slightest notice. So we left it alone, and looked to the right branch. For twenty feet it went very well, and there, where one man might safely wedge himself, it became practically impossible to mount any higher. My companion, therefore, came up while I worked out on the open face to the right. Without much trouble a small platform one foot square was reached, from which we proposed to mount the buttress that separated us from the right central chimney. I hesitated a long while before venturing on it; the place was assuredly difficult, we were not certain whether the upper portion would be feasible, and the strong wind, swirling mist, and intermittent rain sapped our courage and strength the more we deliberated.

The stiff work began with a scramble up into a grassy corner, fifteen feet above my platform. It was too small to enter, but from it sprang a narrow cleft to the right, very much like the well-known ‘stomach traverse’ on the Pillar Rock, but considerably harder to pass, and without an easy walk out at the further end. At its highest point the best course seemed to be up a vertical crack in the wall, and a stiff scramble here of ten feet brought me out on the head of the buttress. Here there was a chance of walking over to the right central chimney and finishing by the thirty feet or so that remained of its special difficulty. But that portion was naturally as wet as the lower part that we had purposely avoided, and we chose to cross the chimney and climb up its right wall.

CHAPTER XVI
COMBE GHYLL

Many a pedestrian walking down Borrowdale from the Styhead pass, looking backward at the fearful descent of some 1,100 feet of rough fellside, reaches a point in the valley where he experiences difficulty in recalling his track. For the valley between Gable and Seathwaite Fell is hidden, and his choice hovers between the combe below Sprinkling Tarn, walled in by Seathwaite Fell and Glaramara, and the upland valley that nestles between Thornythwaite and Rosthwaite Fells. His perplexity is increased when he notices that neither hollow satisfies the condition of background. The one is barred by the crags of Great End, the other by the steep wall of Raven Crag, a high dependence of Glaramara; whereas the Styhead pass as seen from Grange ought to show distant Scawfell as a background, and be easily recognised. One of these two hollows the climber will do well to identify.

Combe Ghyll is the name of the course that drains the north side of Glaramara, the stream making its way down the little valley that has already been described as lying between Thornythwaite and Rosthwaite Fells. At about the 1,000-feet level in the valley the land is flat and marshy; with little provocation the stream could produce a respectable lake, and the tourist in wet weather feels that such absence of deception would be to his advantage. Above this level the mountain rises abruptly, and the ghyll has to acknowledge two sources. That which sends its supply straight down the centre of Raven Crag was the first to be regarded as Combe Ghyll. But the other is longer and more obvious. Looking up from the marsh the watercourse is very distinct away to the left, though the climb is equally in evidence on the right. When a short time since three curious cragsmen (including the curious writer) penetrated to the recesses of this almost unknown country to find the climb that Messrs. Robinson and Wilson had discovered and christened as long ago as September, 1893, we were compelled by that name to tackle the east branch, but vowed at the same time to go later to the west. Our conscientiousness was praiseworthy, though mistaken, but as events developed themselves our mistake had happy consequences. We managed both ghylls, and were probably instrumental in preventing a nasty accident to a couple of would-be mountaineers whom we discovered in difficulties.

It was on a hot day in April. We had been disporting ourselves for photographic purposes in the Kern Knotts crack, and had sauntered down to Seatoller for some soda and milk to give grace to our jam sandwiches. Then we walked down the Rosthwaite Road as far as the bridge over the Derwent, and went across the opposite shoulder into the combe. It was very close down in Borrowdale, and we were glad to get out of the well of warm air and follow the water for a mile or so to the marshy upland. Here the walking was soft and pleasant. Water in our boots was no hardship, and we even hoped that there would be many waterfalls in our gully. Then came the dilemma and our decision to keep to the main stream. But the aspect of the Raven Crag gully on our right, as we skirted the boggy ground below us, was magnificent. Pitch rose above pitch apparently without any easy stretches, and the whole gully seemed to form just one vertical chimney in the rocks, five hundred feet high. Moss Ghyll itself is not grander than the Raven Crag gully as it appeared that afternoon to our longing gaze, and even now that the details of the latter climb are impressed vividly in my mind I can assure myself that it was one of the finest I have ever undertaken in Cumberland.

We followed our watercourse right up to its beginning close to a little pass over towards Langstrath. In general appearance it somewhat resembled Piers Ghyll, with its slight gradient and short pitches, its rotten walls and unavoidable water. But in respect to the last consideration we were almost exempted from a wetting, for the ghyll was nearly dry, and only in the direct ascent of one pitch did we run any risk of a drenching. No doubt the normal state of the gully is very much worse than we found it.

With hazy impression of a hundred-feet pitch we came provided with two eighty-feet lengths of rope, but managed our climb with one only. The first pitch was about fifteen feet high; the left wall was feasible, the direct climb involved the passage through a dripping cave and out by a hole in the roof, and the right side of the gully was of steep grass and insecure rock. We took to the latter, and with care managed the ascent without dislodging much that might help later climbers. Above this we had a view of a waterfall about fifty or sixty yards further up, and inasmuch as the rocks showed signs of nailed boots we were for some time prevailed upon to believe that we had really found our quest.

The bed of the stream was rough but easy for a while. Two small pitches about six feet high scarcely gave us pause before we reached the foot of the waterfall that we had seen from the first pitch. It was about twelve yards high; the walls were four or five feet apart, and glistening with the wet. They did not appear to offer very excellent holds, but I found it possible to face the fall and utilize as footholds sundry diminutive ledges on either side. It was a case of spanning the gully and walking up. About twenty feet from the bottom the holds on the left wall were somewhat greasy, but a yard higher the ledges on the right had so much improved that it was a safe venture to pull over to that side and effect a traverse to the top of the double obstacle over which the water was falling. While the others were rapidly following, we were surprised to hear voices from above. I advanced a little, and discovered two young men perched precariously on the face of the steep wall to the right. Almost at the same moment a large stone fell from their feet towards us, and, in an ecstasy of fear lest they should bombard our last man, who was yet in difficulties bestriding the gully below, we shouted to them to stay still a bit and wait for us to advance to a place of safety. Then with all speed we clambered up to them, and let them down on the rope into the gully again. They were distinctly in peril; that side of the ghyll was as treacherous, with its loose splinters of rock and steep unreliable grass, as it could manage to be without falling by its own weight. The top was slightly overhanging, and could bear no extra pulling. The men were inexperienced; one of them had no nails in his boots; they had walking-sticks tied tightly to their wrists with string, and when we reached them they were tired out with the physical and mental strain. We reflected on our wonderful good fortune in choosing this gully, and thought with some bitterness that this was the way that the noblest of sports acquired its notoriety for great danger. It transpired that they had scrambled down into the gully at the side of the waterfall that we had just climbed, and saw no means of getting out of the hole excepting by this loose wall.

We were now at the foot of a small pitch about twenty-five feet high. It was divided by a vertical buttress, and the water was flowing down to the left. The right-hand side seemed rather insecure, so I climbed some thirty feet up the wall of the gully again, and the second man clambered up the right-hand recess, confident in the support of the rope if his foothold gave way. He then traversed easily to the top of the pitch, and drew in my rope as I descended to his level and followed him. We asked the last man how were the passengers to be conveyed up the pitch. He replied, with perhaps just a touch of malice, that the direct passage through the water was the shortest, quickest, and cheapest route to the top, and we at the summit were of the same mind. Then our tourists were tied separately to the rope, and hauled up through the fall. It was very uncomfortable for them, but we got as wet ourselves later on. We hoped that their bedraggled condition would prompt them to a speedy descent and a relinquishment, for that day at least, of the joys of crag-climbing. That pitch was the last in the gully of any magnitude, and our friends were able to walk out easily on to the open fell and so down to Borrowdale. We ourselves gave one last look around for the hundred-feet fall that was to finish Combe Ghyll, and then, finding it not, we bore rapidly westwards across the mountain in search of the genuine article.

As we skirted the foot of the crags we passed two small gullies that rose steeply above us, and that for a moment made us stop to consider their qualifications. In twenty minutes from the top of Combe Ghyll we came to the first deep and well marked watercourse. It was our Raven Crag Gully, and when we peered up into its dark recesses we felt that good sport was at last before us. We finished the remnants of our lunch and drank a little water. It was not a tempting beverage, for the rocks just above were covered with objectionable vegetation, and the supply was so much below the average that the pools seemed almost stagnant. Also, I was haunted with the recollection of a dead sheep that we had passed in the other gully, lying on a ledge close to the stream. Mountain water is not always free from microbes, especially in those craggy regions where sheep come to grief.

We started on the climb close by a little pool of water at the foot of a short and greasy pitch. It could have been taken direct, but we worked round the buttress on the left and entered the gully a few feet higher. Then, penetrating well into the recess, we were at once confronted by the first big pitch. A steep buttress divided the gully into two parts, the left-hand recess being cut deeply into the mountain and forming a long and narrow waterfall. This was the true bed of the gully. To the right of the buttress the recess was comparatively shallow, but its easier inclination somewhat compensated for its exposed position, and we found that the footholds were just sufficient to render a rapid advance possible. About forty feet up I craved the second man’s helping hand, but while he was advancing to offer assistance an easy way of swarming up the buttress commended itself; I found a resting-place at the level of the top of the pitch, eighty or ninety feet above the foot of the fall, where the second man could join me before I ventured on the traverse round to the bed of the gully. The traverse reminded us of the steps over the buttress from the Tennis Court ledge in Moss Ghyll, and was no doubt a place to respect in wet or icy weather. Our last man came up more directly, keeping on the inner side of the buttress for the first half of the climb and then working straight up the pitch. Excepting for an awkward bit of some three feet at the middle of the ascent, his route had advantages over ours. The rocks throughout were splendid, and their warmth and dryness made the scrambling easy.

A yard or two further, over great boulders bestrewn in the bed of the gully, and we were brought up at the foot of the second great obstacle. Here the two side walls approached to within a distance of four feet of each other, and straight down the centre from a height of seventy feet dripped the weak promise of a second waterfall. Close to the water it was impossible to ascend, but some ten feet away from it suitable ledges on either side discovered themselves. These enabled me to use both walls in a directly vertical ascent for so long as they were within four feet of each other. Then I pulled over to a crack on the right and performed a safety wriggle to more open ground above, whence it was easy to clamber over the big boulders at the top of the pitch. The second man was asked to prospect the route on the other side of the left wall, and came up with the report that the traverse out of the main gully was easy and that the rest of the ascent, about eighty feet of solid rock, was just comfortable hand-and-foot work all through. While the third was adopting the same tactics which we afterwards remembered had been employed by a previous party from Keswick, I went on to inspect the next obstacle. It certainly was the worst-looking pitch in the whole ascent. A large cave was formed by two massive boulders jammed between the narrow walls seventy feet above our heads. The first-floor of the cave was fifty feet up, and from its roof dripped the inevitable water-supply to damp our daring ardour. The walls of the gully were close together and covered with wet moss. Holds were very scarce, and for a moment we considered the advisability of working out on the right as others had done before us, and traversing into the gully above the cave. But a tentative backing-up in the main chimney gave some hope of success in the direct attack; and abandoning all idea of making a final exit with dry garments, I cautiously worked up the inner face of a leaf of rock on the right wall, the others steadying my feet on sundry infinitesimal ledges so long as I was within reach, and then supporting me with words of encouragement and approval. When within six feet of the floor of the cave it became necessary to wedge well into the chimney, with back against the left and scanty hold opposite. Then a desperate wriggle gave me a lift of about eighteen inches and the handholds improved sufficiently for haulage. Leaving the left wall, I could just thrust my knee in a corner under the fall, and lever up to the opposite side. Next a few easy ledges brought me into the cave, and I paused to wring the moisture from my coat and cap before inviting the others to follow on. By regarding their manœuvres and subsequent criticism it impressed me as likely that I might have saved myself some exertion, and perhaps have better avoided the water, by keeping up the edge of the leaf of rock instead of attacking its inner face. But that course would expose the leader to a greater risk of slipping at a failing hold, and would demand more ingenious tactics.

Our cave was large and airy; the water passed into it at the back, so that we could easily stay at the entrance and avoid the fall. High up above our heads were a couple of apertures in the roof, probably wide enough for our passage, but difficult to reach. The right wall of the gully was well broken up, and without ado we set ourselves at it and worked round the edge of the nearer overhanging block as a step to the other. Some thirty feet of my rope ran out before the second man advanced from the bed of the cave: not that the climbing refused to admit an earlier start, but that he was busy wringing out his clothes. I awaited his advance impatiently, for a bend in the gully prevented my seeing the next pitch above us—the last in the climb. But when he was firmly braced against the top boulder, hauling in the rope of the last man, I advanced to the end of my tether to steal an early glance at the pitch that report had spoken of so respectfully. Robinson’s account in the Wastdale book was succinct enough: ‘A return on to the floor of the ghyll was made near the top of the third pitch, when a little scrambling led to a very fine waterfall more than 100 feet high. Here climb in the water as little as you can; then diverge slightly on to the right hand of the ghyll just where the water spouts over a small recess; next traverse across a rather difficult slab into the cave under the final boulder, which is climbed on the left hand and is the last difficulty.’ The only part of his prescription that I had carried in my mind was the ‘climb in the water as little as you can,’ and we had been applying it all day with varying success. The trouble always is to make any headway at all against a descending mass of cold water, and we had come to regard the advice as indicative solely of the fact that an available route was only to be found in dry weather. To climb in the water as little as possible meant to choose a dry season and to mount by the usual line of flow. Another account that may prove interesting was given me by Messrs. G. and A. Abraham: ‘Some enjoyable scrambling in the bed of the ghyll brought us quickly to the last obstacle and certainly the finest part of the whole climb. The climber is immediately reminded here of the great amphitheatre in the Screes Gully, for, although on a much smaller scale, we have the same gigantic buttresses and receding slabs, with three suggested exits. The most obvious way out here is up the waterfall as usual. This we attempted until the amount of water on the steep, slippery rocks forced us out on to the difficult right-hand wall, about seventy feet above the beginning of the pitch. Here we climbed straight upwards, and, traversing round a very awkward corner, landed right on the top of the pitch, the leader requiring considerable help for the last twenty feet.’ Our own experiences were a little different, a consequence of our fixed intention to force a route directly upwards without any traversing away on to the right wall of the gully. Also, we were relieved of the necessity of avoiding water, because it fell too diffusely to be avoided, and so small an area was left to any of us that could be affected seriously by further saturation. The first part of the pitch was perfectly simple. We could employ holds on either side and clamber up to a platform made by an un-jammed stone with rounded corners that had been caught in the cleft. It was safe enough for our purposes, and two men could lodge themselves conveniently above it. Straight up overhead was a formidable chimney that looked feasible in its upper portion but impossible to reach directly from below. A long block of rock twenty feet high, possibly part of the living mountain, prevented a passage up the pitch to the immediate right of the chimney; but between the smooth slabs of wet rock that formed the right wall of the gully and this long boulder a narrow crack wound its way up to Robinson’s cave, and it occurred to all of us simultaneously that the crack might be negotiated and the awkward slab-traverse thereby avoided. But the crack was as nothing to begin with, and from our rickety platform we could obtain but scanty notion of its safety higher up. I suggested advancing a little to prospect, craving a shoulder to start from, and a steadying hand for my completer confidence on the doubtful little ledges that we were calling footholds. The first ten feet went very well, but although I found the crack useful for the left knee, it was unable to accept the responsibility of my complete stability. I sang out for another steadying hand, and my most admirable second clambered on to the shoulders of the last man without a moment’s hesitation. They plastered themselves flat against the slab, and I felt my right foot cease its uncanny trembling as the outstretched hand held it firmly in the niche it longed to use. This was downright luxury, and in my sense of security there stole a moment’s shame at the thought of so much dependence on the others. But there! in climbing as in football the combination is everything in the highest developments of the game, and though success may now and again be due to the unaided efforts of one man, the full satisfaction that should follow victory will only be felt by the whole party when all have contributed something to the manœuvring. Be it remembered that in crag-climbing two heads are better than one, even if the second head is only used as a foothold. But there we were, three links in a chain that reached from the platform to the widest part of the crack that was to lead us to the cave. The position was not to be dwelt upon, and I hastened to relieve the others of their common burden. In the crack and at arm’s length above me was a well-secured angular stone round which the rope could be passed. Using it as a hold I was able to quit the precarious foothold on the right and thrust the left knee well into the crack. The position was one that could admit of no slip, the leg being sufficient to hold the body well in; and before quitting that favoured spot I untied the rope and slipped the free end through the hole at the back of the jammed stone before tying on again. The others had descended by this time to the platform and were taking in all the slack. Whatever the difficulty of the few remaining moves to the cave, I was insured against a big fall and could trust to the belaying of the little angular block that had so neatly adjusted itself to our needs. As a matter of fact the precaution was scarcely necessary, though eminently proper under the circumstances. The ledges above me were good and firm, and with the rope gently paid out from below I reached the cave without more trouble.

The floor was sloping; but a comfortable and reposeful attitude could be indulged in, well at the back, far from the dripping eaves of the cave. But I had committed an error of judgment with the rope, threading the hole from above the jammed stone instead of from below, before tying the bowline round my waist. At the time the importance of that consideration had not occurred to me, but now in my ease, hauling up the slack between myself and the second, I felt a sudden jerk. The rope was wrapped completely round the jammed stone, whose angularity, that had before commended itself to the hands, now introduced so much friction that the rope would no longer slip freely round it. We were perplexed for a while, till our enterprising middleman, who had many times before offered a key to our difficulties, proposed climbing up as a leader, with the second rope attached to his waist, and the fixed rope above him used for steadying purposes whenever necessary. We knew that the jammed stone that fixed the upper rope could not be dislodged easily, and indeed I was able to hold on to my end and oppose any dangerous leverage. He climbed up with every confidence, and reached the crack safely. Then, repeating my movement with the left leg, he held on while disentangling my rope, tying himself to its lower end as soon as the complications were unravelled. A few moments more gave me a companion in the cave, and built, as it was, for two persons only, he mildly suggested my withdrawal for the benefit of the third man. Thence our method of advance was practically identical with Robinson’s. We had a little walk of six feet over towards the left wall of the gully, by ledges that lay on the very verge of a sheer drop of eighty feet to the foot of the pitch. Then the ascent was continued by a narrow crack that commenced in a somewhat sensational manner, not so much by reason of its difficulty as by the feeling of nothingness to fall back upon in case of a slip. The second was at my heels, and he was firmly braced up by the sole remaining tenant of the cave. Lifting the left leg as high up the crack as possible, and accepting a push from behind, I reached over a slab on the right and dragged up on to it. That was to be the last big effort; the final pitch was all below, and the gully eased away above me to its open finish. I shouted the tidings to the others. With all eagerness they followed, the last man claiming with pride the discovery of a grand foothold that he had unearthed or unmossed at the lower edge of the slab.

Well! we had had a rare little fight; the gully had taken us an hour and twenty minutes of continuous work, and we voted it a piece of solid good business.

There remained the long walk back to Wastdale and to dinner. I proposed getting there in an hour and a half, and started on the journey with a pipe in my mouth. We had about three miles of rough, high-level skirting along the 2,000-feet contour to Sprinkling Tarn, two miles of descent to the Burnthwaite level, and a mile of valley walking at the finish. The consequence was that very little smoking was enjoyed. We were a quarter of an hour behind time at Burnthwaite, a laudable spurt in the valley being abruptly terminated by the discovery of another climbing-party on the track. We had found that if two parties were late, dinner would await their arrival; hence our motive for haste was removed and we composed our gait and our thoughts for a more sedate entry into the hotel yard.

Note: In the first edition of this book, I followed Mr. Haskett Smith’s nomenclature and located the climb in Eagle Crag. It seems that this shoulder of Glaramara goes by the name of Raven Crag, and I have changed the name of the gully accordingly. There are many Raven Crags and many Eagle Crags in the district, but climbers need only be warned against confusing the Raven Crag Gully on Glaramara with the Raven Crag Chimney on Great Gable.

CHAPTER XVII
THE PILLAR ROCK

Mosedale is closed in by Yewbarrow, Red Pike, Pillar, Looking Stead, and Kirkfell. These form a noble amphitheatre of dark mountains, a cordon through which it is not easy to break. Between the last two hills we can effect the passage of the Black Sail over into Ennerdale, which passes down behind the Pillar to the north-west. A more direct route to Ennerdale is by Wind Yatt (or Windy Gap), a pass 2,400 feet high, between the Pillar and the Red Pike. On the northern or Ennerdale side of the Pillar mountain is the famous Rock, beloved of climbers great and small. It springs up vertically from the steep fellside, with a north face like a cathedral-front 500 feet high. From the summit of the fell a descent of 400 feet of steep rock and scree will bring us to the nearest part of the crag. From the Liza River at the bottom of the valley we have 1,100 feet of grass and scree to tackle before reaching the lowest buttresses that support the great wall.