Gullies — For Or Against
by W. Woodward
We are agreed that climbs of length are often the most rewarding, and the longest climbs in Britain are often found in gullies. On the delights of gully climbing we violently disagree, some are for and some are against. To our contingent of four Y.R.C. climbers who took part in the little escapades described below, I just refused to put the question.
The first of these perambulations took place in Walker’s Gully on Pillar Rock. We had walked over from Wasdale, where we were camping, and now at the foot of the gully the rope was put on. Don Henderson was elected to lead and he soon made light of the first two pitches out on the right hand wall; we other three dutifully followed. We were now just below the steep upper pitches of the gully proper, congregated together and enjoying rather battered cigarettes. Suddenly from above came a warning trickle of stones ricocheting from the gully walls. No further warning was needed; we had heard the same familiar sound often in the Dolomites and we instinctively dived for cover, fortunately provided by a meagre overhang. Then silence: must be a sheep up above, let’s give it a yell. Sheffield curses echoed through the gully. Was Walker a parson? We hoped not! To our amazement answering voices were heard from very high up in the cleft. More Sheffield oaths, this time in unison. In answer came the boom of crashing rocks; no stones these; this was the big stuff. Again the dash for cover, bodies pressed close together, how small this overhang feels! One boulder dropped just behind us, hitting the rope to which we were still tied; the second landed by its side. Howls, threats, curses rent the air. Again silence. Then a plaintive voice “We are abseiling down!” We replied by asking them to refrain from moving for a while. They complied and we moved out of our haven of refuge and well out to the left of the gully, here we squatted down, smoked and waited. Mutterings and hangings followed and in due time four bespattered climbers were deposited beside us. The leader announced that he could not get up the crux on the final pitch and the rock falls were the result of groping about looking for abseil points. Thankfully we went our different ways, they still groping downwards and we wonderingly upwards. Don successfully overcame the final pitch.
Naturally we are wary of gullies but once again a little voice insisted and this time we were preparing to rope up for the Great Gully on Craig yr Ysfa. It was December and the Welsh hills were gripped in a mighty freeze-up. We approached the mouth of the gully, looked up and noted a little ice on the first pitch but above the rock looked in good condition. Again the tinkle of small stones; what now? We were well off to the right of the little avalanche so we prepared to move ahead. At this precise moment came a clatter of stones and over the edge of the gully hurtled a sheep. It turned gracefully in mid-air and landed with a thud right between us. It lay still with the neck obviously broken. Sorrowfully and thoughtfully we continued upwards. Nothing untoward occurred during the day and we enjoyed a delightful climb, finishing with the last pitch adorned with icicles on the traverse.
Our third encounter with a gully was the Waterpipe Gully of Sgurr an Fheadain on the Isle of Skye. In the Cuillin in May 1963 the sun had shone continuously for five days. Leisurely we traversed the Main Ridge, taking two days over it, bivouacking below Ihe Bhasteir Tooth and joyfully scrambling up “Naismith’s” at 6.30 in the morning carrying huge rucksacks. But again the voice was heard and the call of the gullies was answered. This time we thought, “Oh well, at least it will be dry.” We roped up for two parties of two and walked into the gully proper. After initial small overhangs we got our first shock in the form of a waterfall down the 80 ft. pitch. Being a coward at heart I turned this on the right of the gully and congratulated myself on keeping dry but the next problem, a small overhang, required standing in a stream and groping for a non-existent hand-hold. I demanded a shoulder, by this time I was wet to the skin and thought guilefully that whoever gave it would also get his fair share. My demand was refused. Again we traversed out and found ourselves on what the guide books call a stack of rock; this is not what I called it. However the gully had now narrowed and leaving Raymond Harben belayed on the gully bed I started up the left hand corner. By bridging and picking out loose rocks which hurtled to the gully bed I attained a resting position. I was surprised on looking down to see that my faith ful second had picked up his belay and fled out of range; I cannot blame him. I traversed round a mossy slab above all this chaos and reached the gully summit, Raymond followed. Trousers and shirt off we lay in the hot sunshine watching the eagle soaring over Tairneilear Corrie, his eyrie not far away.
These were gullies of rock climbing. What of the snow and ice that also goes along with them? Somewhere in the distance that little voice calls “Come …” I know we will answer.
For Snow Gullies see page 252. — Ed.