In reply to TheGeneralist:
My first visit to Square face was with my son and knowing little about the task, I posted on here for advice. To my delight, the wonderful Andy Nesbitt responded and I invented some supplementary questions just to keep the dialogue going.
We eventually pulled into the Invercauld carpark and were unloading our tatty bikes in the rain. Two elderly Scottish gentlemen came over and engaged us. They had just come down from Lochnagar and had doffed their hats to HRH on one of the Balmoral trails. They queried our plans and seeing our camping gear asked if we were aware of a bothie on our planned route. I asked if he meant " the secret bothie" to which he replied "Aye". I said that I thought it was the best kept secret in Scotland, to which he again replied "Aye". He then began punching buttons on a GPS attached to his collar. To my son's puzzlement I told him to grab a pencil and paper and write down the figures on the screen. The gentleman's honour was saved at not having told us the bothie's location.
We parted company and headed on through the estate. We found the " secret howff" and marvelled at it but it was too far short of our destination so we carried on. We pitched camp in the rain and midge tea added to our discomfort.
It was still raining next morning but we trudged on through the gloom and were fortunate to find the top of the route during a brief clearing. We descended the not to be recommended gully to the left, sacrificing a number of bits of kit to semiprotect us on the frightening choss fest down to the base of the route.
It was a big boots day and the first two pitches went OK. I led up the final pitch and opted for the right hand finish. It was still raining and friction there was none. Fortunately I managed to place a big hex before moving off. There was a sort of bulge which I needed to pull over but with the exertions and conditions I hadn't the strength and I was off. I slid down the granite, wondering when the rope was going to pull tight. Eventually it did and I was level with but away off from my white faced son on his belay perch. I had lots of superficial scratches and the blood mixed with the rainwater gave me the appearance of having walked out of a butcher's shop. I had no option but to try again and I guess I might have taken the left hand finish and flopped on the top.
My son was more shocked than me, aware that we hadn't seen anyone for two days and what could he have done if I was injured. Like many others, we abandoned plans for Mitre Ridge and retreated to drop our camp. We had a joyous ride back to the car and were soon enjoying fish and chips on the way home.
On a second visit, a friend managed to get frostbite in July but that as they say is another story.
