UKC

Inspired by Erick's thread - which got deported to the ROCKFAX forum - I was thinking we should highlight for commendation some of the best logbook entries on here. A quick look at the Ben uncovered these to get the ball rolling:

Observatory Ridge:

Pithy: this is long

Disgustingly honest: Desperate powder conditions. Scary pull over onto the tower. Filled my pants looking down at the long runout.

Wonderfully bizarre: An excellent day out, which culminated in Tommy getting lost on the golf course, the car being towed from the golf course by the police to get it started, and meeting Mark on the back of Mungo the Magnificent's enormous BMW motorbike at the roundabout in the Fort.

Point Five:

The dangers of "getting psyched" - and of not being able to climb snow: Second climb. A bit spooky crossing avalanche debris field and steep approach. First two pitches went okay seconding. So much so i got psyched and when asked if i wanted to lead 3rd pitch replied "Let's have it!" ... managed to get to top of the pitch where the angle changes, ice turned to snow and I cant climb snow. My foot step collapsed, axes pulled (I shouted "oh no!" and I fell from the top of the pitch back to the belay. 15 meters? 1 screw blew out and the one that actually caught me was only partially in before it had hit rock. Landed upside down on my back (pack cushioned the impact) I dropped both my axes but they were tangled in belay so didn't lose them. Fairly uninjured. Lots of giggling. Had fallen close enough to the belay that Ed passed axes back to me. Rest of the route was fairly uneventful and made it back to track with the dregs of daylight.

The winter tactician: Good conditions. Climbed in seven pitches. Led the odd pitches including the Rogue pitch – which was steep but short. Matt was keen to avoid leading the crux pitch – but I think his plan back fired!

Tower Ridge:

Evocative: A great day out with perfect weather for most of the route - almost totally still and sunny, you could hear every little clink and conversation across the various buttresses which was quite eery. About 8hrs from the bottom of East gully to the top. The snow wasn't as useful as it could have been (a bit too soft) so this meant we ended up pitching more than we otherwise would. What a route though!

Irish: 11 years after my first ascent wi little simon, where we fell asleep on tower gap Nat provided the highlights this time by gettin' stuck upside down...plugged the gap so she did

In reply to Tricadam:

best understatement: The Greatest Show On Earth (X 10)

In reply to Tricadam:

Slightly off subject but a log book entry of a kind. I recall reading in the Hutchinson hut a humorous account of a visit for a climbing trip. the tale told how the weather turned ever milder on the walk in with huge wet snow drifts, one in which he lost his dog? On arrival at the hut he received news that his girlfriend was having an affair with his best mate. The farcical tale ended with the author signing off, "will renew my membership to Mayfair magazine, Happy, George" I only wish I had taken a photo of it as it really was story of despair & hope, anyone else remember reading this, it would of been back in late 2005 early Jan 2006.

In reply to French Erick:


The notable mid-20th century climber George Graham Macphee (1898-1963) was known for having a dry wit and a tendency to understatement. When he made what I believe was the first descent of Moss Ghyll Grooves on Scafell, his entry in the club hut book was simply: "MGG GGM".

In reply to Dave Hewitt:

Hi Dave,
With a downward arrow between the letter groups (not sure how you do that on my keyboard). My favourite bit of understatement is the one about the legendarily laconic Archer Thompson going for a day on the hill with a professor from Manchester also known for being silent. As they shook hands at the end the Manchester guy cracked and said "I have a brother even more silent than myself". Thompson just smiled.

In reply to Tricadam:

How about "Best avoided unless you're an anorexic dwarf covered in lard"? K Buttress Crack at Bamford.

In reply to Iain Thow:


Very good - didn't know about the arrow (I think I got the story off either Miles Hutchinson or Matt Shaw - the latter is Macphee's grandson). So have you actually seen the logbook entry? Which hut is it in?


These chaps were great - and it's so pleasingly different from the modern selfie generation where someone goes up Ben Lomond by the tourist path and then wants (and usually gets) a round of applause on social media. Another modest-to-a-fault one is Gordon Downs, a 1971 Munroist and generally lovely man. I used to meet him quite often on the Ochils and have kept in touch by letter even though he's now unable to get out on the hill. He's done loads of interesting and adventurous stuff, but downplays it all (or simply never mentions it). Like many such people, he has a nice wry sense of humour, eg he finished his first round of Munros on An Teallach and his second, in 1987, on A'Bhuidheanach Bheag at Drumochter, ie the exact opposite type of Munro to An Teallach. I'm pretty sure this was chosen deliberately, as a quiet joke...

In reply to Tricadam:
ick: to be entered. Delayed 4hrs below tower by bbc filming the edge raebuurn re enactment. -18. Abject fear on crux western chimney. Chopped. No gear just torques. Told myself I'm dead already ala Mr Dawes making a heel hook move. Belayed Phil into gap whilst pulling up hypo party last in line. Signalled CIC for rescue. Refused to take em shaking into the gap. Gary who had two broken ankles mending said. We are going to get out of this alive are nt we. I said shut up Gary. Phil led to summit plateau. Saw helicopters. Ran down for 2 am - Gary's ankles hurting. Pub at spean bridge for 3 thirty Phil asked for water. They opened door and pointed to the river 800 m away bought pints Phil still in harness etc. Pub happy n busy. We played darts. 1 st ever route on the Ben. At the time it all seemed quite normal.

In reply to Iain Thow:


The story is told of H W Tilman, sitting round the campfire, somewhere in Africa with his long time companion of many pioneering and dangerous adventures, Eric Shipton.

Tilman was legendary for his taciturnity, while Shipton was quite gregarious and talkative. But their conversation was highly restrained even for those far more formal times, not particularly to Shipton's liking. So at length he took the plunge after watching the glowing embers flare and fade for several minutes and said :

"Tilman, we have climbed together on many continents, putting up new ascents on many isolated and little known peaks. We have weathered storms, crevasses, thirst and hunger, and always come through. I have saved your life many times and you have saved mine, equally. Do you not think, just possibly that it is time .....

that I called you Bill and you called me Eric?".

For a long, long time, there was no response at all, to the point where he concluded that Tilman was in fact asleep. But finally Tilman stirred and poked the dying fire into a blaze. Then he gave vent to a single, terse word, that showed that he had not only heard what Shipton had said, but had thought carefully about it as well :

"No!".

In reply to Dave Hewitt:

The Macphee entry must be mentioned in Cumbrian Rock?

Re the An Teallach vs A Bhuidheanach Bheag thing, this looks like a good example of finishing on a great mountain vs finishing on something easy and not too far away to get a good crowd in attendance.

In reply to Michael Gordon:


Possibly, although arguably you'd get a bigger crowd on An Teallach than at Drumochter! Gordon is or was in Perth MC so could well have had a group from that on either gathering. Seem to recall asking him about it at some stage and he just smiled. Certainly fits with his character.

(Whatever the reason there, Drumochter Munros rarely get left for last accidentally - hardly anyone ever finishes on any of them, especially on that east-side pair - I know of only two more on ABB, and four on Carn na Caim - Meall Chuaich's been busier, at least 21, as always with standalone hills. My main hill sidekick is leaving Beinn Udlamain until last, on similar near/easy grounds, having been weathered off it one day years ago while climbing its neighbours.)

In reply to Simon4:

I once heard an extension to that story, where Shipton asks Tilman "Why not?". After trying to brush the question off a few times and Shipton persisting, Tilman eventually blurts out "Because Eric's such a damn stupid name!". Cue silence. Never seen it written down so can't possibly be true

In reply to Dave Hewitt:

I gather it's in Brackenclose. Haven't seen it myself though, I think it's mentioned in either one of Harry Griffin's books or that history of Lakes climbing that the FRCC published in the 70s.
(I actually like the Drummochter Munros, especially the back of them where they tip over into Gaick, you get absolutely ginormous cornices there in the spring)

In reply to Iain Thow:


Ta - that figures. Must be the most minimal route description ever. I have most of the AHG books (several of them inherited from Irvine Butterfield), so I'll have a rummage and see if anything turns up.


Me too - I've not yet been on those Gaick Corbetts but intend to go in that way, over ABB. A round of the six Munros from Dalnaspidal is a good outing too - I did that, plus the Sow, anticlockwise in a little over 9hr no rush including over an hour off, so it's a very doable day.

In reply to Iain Thow:
Another Tilman story :

Tilman was well known as an enthusiastic officer of an Artillery battalion. This battalion was once shipped out to India.

As the ship was leaving Southampton, Tilman emerged on deck and looked around him with a keen eye, observing everything very carefully. He was then heard to pronounce, in tones of solemnity and profoundity :

"Hmmm. Sea".

Nothing more was seen of Tilman on the entire voyage, but as the ship pulled into Calcutta, Tilman emerged and walked vigorously up and down the deck observing everything meticulously.

Then he spoke :

"Hmm, land".

In reply to Dave Hewitt:

I loved Harry Griffin's books and devoured them avidly in the 70s, Full of interesting trivia and good solid info, and still some of the best short "character portraits" of hills I've come across. They hooked me on scrambling for life and probably bear some of the responsibility for my general hill addiction too.
9 hrs seems like a decent time for all six to me, by the way, but maybe I'm going soft.

In reply to Iain Thow:


Did you meet him? Presumably a fair few on here would have done. In his latter years we corresponded quite a bit and I visited him once at home in Kendal. Very entertaining. I also corresponded with - and again once visited, in Borth-y-Gest - Showell Pip Styles. On the face of it they were quite similar - same kind of age, had both done heaps, and both had written some much-loved books. But Harry seemed to have a days-gone-by sadness about him - he'd lost various family members including his son Robin, and gradually he'd found it harder and harder to get out - whereas Pip retained boyish enthusiasm even in his mid-90s. Really glad I met both of them - heroes.


It was in May 2009, in good conditions. Did the eastern pair solo in a little over three hours before reaching the A9 half an hour north of Balsporran. Then met a local pal as planned on the summit of Geal-charn - a useful target to aim for - and we stayed together for the rest apart from the Sow which he wasn't bothered with but which was a very pleasant last hill. Down to the car at Dalnaspidal in 40 minutes from there, can't recall any rush at all - good striding-out country.

In reply to Dave Hewitt:

Only met Harry once, just briefly on top of Crinkle Crags. A friend knew him well and made a similar comment about the days-gone-by sadness. Never met Showell Styles but really enjoyed his books too. Love the story about him nearly falling off an ice step in the Glyders, then arriving in a strange angular landscape and being convinced he had actually fallen and died. It took him a few minutes to realise that he'd just made a navigation foul up and ended up in the Llanberis quarries.

In reply to French Erick:

Had an idle browse through Greg's other ascents, hoping in vain to see "Exit, pursued by a bear."

In reply to Michael Gordon:

Surprisingly the Macphee MGG story isn't in Cumbrian Rock, just checked. It is in Tom Price's essay in Classic Rock however, which says the log entry is in Brackenclose. I'm sure I read it somewhere before that though, with the additional information that Kelly had called MGG impossible to descend, which was why Macphee wanted to do it.

In reply to Iain Thow:

Good stuff. There's a few Macphee anecdotes in Crocket/Richardson's Ben Nevis book, such as the importance of minimising the amount of time spent in washing up after a meal (p162)

In reply to Michael Gordon:

I suppose it goes along with his old rival Bell's thing about putting all courses of a meal together to save time (or is that in one of Murray's books?)

In reply to Iain Thow:


There'll be more Macphee/Bell stuff in the second volume of Ken Crocket's history of Scottish mountaineering (I know, because I'm editing it).

In reply to Iain Thow:


Good place to have met Harry. Re the days-gone-by sadness, perhaps the crucial thing is that he wrote about it very well - some of his late, poignant Guardian Country Diary pieces were very good.

Funnily enough I also met Tom Weir just once, likewise in an appropriate place on the hill. Was with my old sidekick Warbeck on the Corbett above Balquhidder (this was in 1995) and coming down the north side towards the Putting Stone, about a mile ahead of us, we could see a little group. One was wearing a red woolly bunnet, and knowing that Weir was fond of the Kirkton Glen I said to Warbeck I bet that's him - and it was. He had an entertaining gang of elderly eccentrics with him (almost certainly all hard hill men). We blethered for maybe 15 minutes, then went on our way. Warbeck wrote about the encounter in The Angry Corrie, while Tom wrote about it in the Scots Mag, which was nice.

Glad to have met the great triumvirate of UK hill writers from that period, if only on one occasion each time. All three lived into their 90s, and there's no one of their type, or of their ability, now. If trying to place them in order, in hill-ability terms it possibly goes Weir-Styles-Griffin - certainly Weir top, I think, and I mean no disrespect to Griffin. In writing terms, personally I'd put Griffin top, with the other two roughly equal although they're hard to compare as Weir, like Griffin, mainly did journalism whereas Styles wrote lots of pure books (eg the children's ones and the naval adventures). All three were great, anyway.

In reply to Dave Hewitt:

Not heard the description of the North face of the Obergabelhorn then?

"450m. Cross the bergrschrund, climb the face. Exit left."

Not even accurate. There was quite a lot of twisted glacier crossing to get to the bergschrund, then we exited right. 1 ice screw used, the same one placed twice, at the bottom and top of the face. Always reminded me of the story of the man who claimed to be able to remember whole chapters of books. When challenged, he recited the "Snakes" chapter from "Natural History of Iceland". It went :

"There are no snakes in Iceland."

Some of the "descriptions" in the Hamish McInness joke book of Winter climbing in Scotland are classic as well :

"Icefall - 750 m, climb the obvious line"

This was illustrated by a heavily fogged picture taken on a box brownie camera, from 3/4 of a mile away, with a crudely drawn arrow somewhere on a mountain (or lump, more accurately), and the label "icefall", for added clarification.

In reply to Simon4:


Very good, but it's an essay compared with six letters and an arrow.

Re useless descriptions, the ur-Marilynbagger Rowland Bowker once told me he'd seen a book of walks that included the instruction "turn left at the pile of sand".

In reply to Dave Hewitt:
Or the comment about a route (may have been re-used for several) :

"The holds do not inspire confidence, so if you do not like them, throw them away and try others".

In the Cauldron in Pembrook, a vast hole in the ground that is filled with the sea at its base, there is a route called Ace of Spades. This was definitely in the disposable holds category, and was a source of sustained, sheer terror of looseness and untrustworthiness. Quite technically difficult as well, to give added spice.

As we walked away from it in the evening light one of our party fell behind. We stopped and he caught up, with a meditative expression on his face, and a far away look in his eyes :

"I remember where the phrase 'Ace of Spades' comes from. When you tell fortunes with an ordinary pack of cards, it is the death card"

It always pays to think about the significance of route names.

In reply to Dave Hewitt:


Was there not once a comment on a Ron Fawcett route that described it as :

"having no holds at all, with very long reaches between them".

In reply to Simon4:
"The bottomless central slab, gained by an earthy groove. Those wishing to sample its delights will doubtless find further description superfluous" 250 ft VS. From North Devon and Cornwall.
A friend considers it the pinnacle of his climbing career that the guidebook description for one of his routes (also in North Cornwall) used to be "The central corner, a loathsome thing".

In reply to planetmarshall:


FAO Greg: http://sharethe.buzz/life/how-this-flashlight-can-save-your-life

In reply to Iain Thow:

Is the pinnacle still there, or has it collapsed into the sea?

I recall on one of the several attempts before final success on the Rochefort-Grands Jorasses traverse, we finished up at the bottom of a steep snow slope descending from the Rochefort ridge on the French side (don't ask!). Having spent an uncomfortable and frightening night perched somewhere on it, we were traversing along an ENORMOUS bergschrund at its base, trying to find a way across. Various abseiling attempts having been absurd failures, we came to a strict agreement that no more time would be wasted trying, and we would find the edge of the slope. As we traversed above the hungry monster, we came to a 20-25 foot high tower immediately above the gaping hole.

The temptation was far too much, and I lead off toward it, only to have the entire pillar collapse into the void, just as we got close enough for our footsteps to shake the many tons of rock and send it to that great scree-slope in the sky (or rather, on the tumbled glacier below).

I can't remember how we finally got down the bergschrund, but we must have managed it as we are not still there.


Sounds rather like the description my partner in the impromptu and unauthorised descent of the Rochefort arete used for me, though a lot more polite.

In reply to Simon4:

Sounds pretty epic! The biggest rockfall I've been (probably) responsible for was when investigating the rib up the centre of the NW face of Sgurr an Fhir Duibhe on Beinn Eighe (probably the line taken by the winter route Ragged Muffin Ridge). I started bridging up a corner crack between a 20 foot pinnacle and a much bigger tower. After a few moves there were some strange scrunching noises so I did a rapid descent and scuttled off round the side. The pinnacle was no longer there a few days later. The route didn't go in the guidebook and I have no intention of ever going back to it.

In reply to Simon4:


Where are you getting your Tilman anecdotes ?! Jim Perrin's introduction to the Mountain Travel books compilation mentions the story and words uttered, but on an expedition during the thirties, with no mention about his mannerisms on deck, and leaving Tilbury arriving Bombay!

Apparently he "couldn't stand" the others on that trip. I wonder who they were.

In reply to Simon4:

Collapsing pinnacles into a schrund - now that's a novel way of getting across!

In reply to Jim Hamilton:


Frankly I can't remember.

Unless I invented them (always possible!), I must have read them somewhere, but cannot for the life of me think where. Of course all the best anecdotes, like the best quotes, never happened anyway, they just ought to have done!

Another Tilman story, which I do have rather more knowledge of its provenance, is from one of his mountain travel books. At one point, presumably somewhere in what is now Syria or more likely Iraq, he encounters a Kurd with a rifle and fairly ambiguous but definitely threatening manner. Tilman relates :

"The Kurdish gentleman seemed want my shirt. It wasn't a very good shirt, but it was the only one I had, so I left".

In reply to Misha:

But possibly more comforting than the proposal to get across the initial schrund on the Ryan Lochmatter, which we puzzled over for some time. My 2 companions were both quite large, I am not, so I was strongly incentivised to find a way to cross when a variant of dwarf-throwing was proposed.

On descending from the Dent d'Herrens, the way down, initially fairly clearly tracked in snow, ran out into chaotic and pathless loose scee, at a worrying angle and a feeling of being completely insecure, as though the whole slope could slide at any moment. Below it was a monster schrund, quite big enough to seize a bus or several, so the way across it was far from obvious from this hideous slope.

The rope was far more harm than use, so we unroped and I tentatively and nervously descended a sort of feeble gully, presently getting out of sight of my partner. Surprisingly there WAS a bridge across the void, with a deep, U-shaped channel in it. This channel was repeatedly swept by, and indeed formed by, heavy bouts of stonefall lasting 2-3 minutes each. This was clearly hazardous, on the other hand, there was no visible way across the monster gulf for as far as the eye could see. So I called Wayne down to join me, having several minutes to watch the display while he carefully did so.

This pause enabled me to spot a clear periodicity and pattern to the stonefall. It was all confined in the U shaped channel, indeed it was clear that it was the repeated stonefall that had bridged the gap. There would be a frantic burst lasting 2-3 minutes, then 1 or 2 late shots, then calm would return for another 5-10 minutes. But the stones were confined in the depths of the U, so I formed the theory that all one had to do was to descend as far as possible on the upper edge of the U, then wait for the next burst of stones. One then had to wait till they stopped, wait another minute and as fast as one possibly could dash across the point where the crevasse was actually bridged, 10-15 feet or so where there was no choice but to be in the stone-swept depths of the U, and then again as fast as possible, get out of the U onto the snow on the other side.

This was the theory. In theory there is no difference between theory and practice. In practice the difference can be considerable, but there were no other ideas as to how to tackle the problem. As I had suggested it, it seemed that I was the most suitable guinea pig.

So first I did it, then Wayne followed with equal success. We were now across the gap, and on an even glacier snow-slope beneath. "We should get going" he said, "it's still dangerous here".

Buoyed up by my recent success in proposing a way of crossing the apparently unpassable crevasse, I was dismissive. "We are quite safe here, the crevasse will swallow anything".

No sooner had these words passed my lips than I noticed, not the usual brick and paving stone sized blocks coming down, but a car sized lump heading straight for us. It was also not chanelled into the U as the smaller stones were, but heading straight down the slope.

My heart was in my mouth for several seconds, as it came directly toward us, and, for a fraction of a second after entering the gap, it seemed to hold its course. Then it did actually tumble into the void, with a mighty crash.

"Not that I am disagreeing with you that we should go" I said. "In fact we should go RIGHT NOW!"

In reply to Simon4:
Hope you don't get nightmares...

In reply to Dave Hewitt:
My Guardian book - A Lifetime of Mountains - which is a 'Best of Harry Griffin's Country Diaries' is a much cherished possession.

In reply to Misha:


Being threatened as the object of Dwarf tossing is certainly the stuff of nightmares! Particularly with an ice axe.

In reply to Simon4:

Dwarf tossing. Not something to Google at work, I would suggest.

In reply to Tricadam:

On an ascent of the Brocken in the Harz...

Mude Beine
Sauere Weine
Sicht keine
Heinrich Heine

In reply to Tricadam:

Even more foolishly, I am currently planning a ski-mountaineering trip with exactly the same 2 giants.

I sincerely hope that any bergrschrunds that need crossing are tackled by more conventional methods. Like using giants to bridge the gap, and then climbing across them to the other side. Without removing one's crampons first of course, that would waste time.

In reply to Tricadam:

Just spotted on (East Buttress, diff, Beinn Eighe)

An interesting day out on the wrong route, that included a free helicopter ride and several fractured vertebrae.

In reply to DundeeDave:

Like the "guidebook" use of the word "interesting" in that context.

Reminiscent of my novices guide to climbing terminology, formally titled :

"Lies climbers tell".

In reply to Simon4:

I have a french friend who spent a year in Scotland, once he said "this interesting, it means deadly..."

In reply to jonnie3430:

Wasn't it Patey who defined "interesting" as "nothing in your life will be worse than the next few moments"?

In reply to Simon4:


Here's another true Tilman anecdote I've always liked:

Tilman says, staring at a crew member eating breakfast on a boat:

"Good God man! Sugar AND milk on your cornflakes!?"

In reply to jonnie3430:


Rather reminiscent of the sadly now mostly forgotten gem "How to be an Alien", written by an immigrant to the UK in the years shortly after WW II :

"After living here for 3 years, you will discover to your absolute amazement, that the language has more adjectives than 'nice'".