Robbie Phillips has made the first ascent of Away with the Faeries (E9 6c), a new route at Carn Liath on the Isle of Skye.

Robbie first discovered the 55 metre line, which tackles the steepest and most exposed section of the main cliff, on a rainy day in the summer of 2024. 

Disbelieving that no-one had established a route that took on the overhanging prow, Robbie soon found that it was due to there being 'barely any gear'. He subsequently spent a few days cleaning and working the route, before making a clean lap of it on a fixed line.

Robbie returned to Skye a couple of weeks ago, thinking that he would only be likely to have time to get reacquainted with the route. However, with a good weather window opening up, and a surprising feeling of strength through the route's crux, he was inspired to push a little further. In an email to UKC earlier in the week, he told us the rest of the story:

Last summer I was climbing on Skye, working a long-term project, when I decided I needed a break. I went exploring in a few areas I'd earmarked for potential new routing—and that's when I came across Carn Liath. A magical crag tucked along the Trotternish Ridge, just a short 10-minute stroll from the Old Man of Storr itself.

Three things grabbed me straight away:

A vast boulder field—surely there's untapped bouldering potential in there?

The crag itself—maybe 60m high, with some impressively steep and blank sections.

And the views—looking north to the Quiraing, east to the isles of Raasay and Rona, and in the evenings, the orange glow of the setting sun casting a magical light on the north-west-facing wall

One feature stood out: a beautifully shaped turtleback ridge, its 'scales' jutting downward to form sidepulls, undercuts, and plenty of smears for feet. But there was one big issue… a serious lack of gear! Around 25m up there was a solid cluster, but beyond that—nothing for about 20m.

I spent a day cleaning the line and another two days working it. It came together quickly, and on my last day there—joined by local legend James Sutton—I managed to link it on the fixed line. James thought I was mad to even consider leading it with such sparse protection, and his brother Doug said something that haunted me until the big day:

'Even good gear in this rock rips sometimes...'

I left Skye the next day, vowing to return in spring. But a winter plagued by injuries made me unsure if that would be possible…

Fast forward to two weeks ago—an incredible weather window opened, so I packed the van and headed north. I didn't expect much, just a chance to reacquaint myself with the line. But after a couple of days, I was back to making the same links as last summer, and the crux felt easier. I called Ryan Balharry:

'This is gonna go, man. If you can make it tomorrow morning, I think I'll go for the lead'.

There's nothing like inviting a photographer to lock yourself in—now you have to climb it.

As I climbed up to the gear nest, I realised the temps were a little warmer than ideal, and I'd left it a bit late—the sun had turned onto the cliff and straight into my eyes. I stood on a small ledge, gear placed, ready to go. All I had to do was start climbing.

As so often happens with bold headpoints, once you commit, everything else fades. You enter a kind of trance—just the sequence, just the movement. The moment you stray from that path is when things unravel.

Getting through the first crux (f7A+) was critical—a fall there would likely mean hitting the ledge. But the next 8m was just pure runout—hard climbing where a fall would probably just mean air time. I told myself it would be like bungee jumping—something I've never done, but maybe should have, to prepare for a potential 20m fall!

I reached the end of the hard climbing and emerged from the trance, standing on a small exposed ledge above the steepness. The final 10m was unprotected but easier—around French 6a—on an exposed face.

Topping out, I felt more relaxed than I usually do after finishing a big project. Maybe it was the speed it all came together. Maybe it was the mellow upper section. But honestly, I think it was that trance-like focus. I barely registered the sensation of trying hard—it just flowed. It made me think about projecting and how, when it finally clicks, you lose some of the uncertainty and adventure that comes with other styles, like onsight trad.

I'm well chuffed to have finished this wild line on Skye. But now? I'm psyched to spend the rest of spring and summer doing something I've always found really hard… onsighting.