Words and Pictures from the Northern Rock lickers!!
Ennerdale is a fabulous valley separated from Styehead Tarn by a feature known as Windy Gap.....and yes, it is! It can be accessed by a longish walk in from the Ennerdale Water end or more directly via Scarth Gap from Gatesgarth Farm, which takes you up along side Haystacks and then back down into the valley, about 450 metres of ascent, with 350 metres of descent (that's right, the valley is higher on the Ennerdale side). Not having been for a proper rock climb for some time, Ian and I decided we would combine an overnight wild camp in Ennerdale, not far from the most remote YH in the country , with a revisit to one of our previous expeditions to Pillar Rock. Saturday morning, my phone alarm doing its best to wake me up at half past five, and it suddenly struck me that going for a few pints the night before probably wasn't my best move. Still, I was up, and I had packed my gear on Thursday (missing out some fairly important items as it happens, more of that later). A bit of stumbling around, breakfast, tripped over the cats a few times and eventually got my self out and across to Ian's for seven. A bit more bumbling around and we were off. Two hours later we parked up in a farmers camp site field, geared up, and after a bit of a chin wag with a holidaying Scouser, we were on our way.
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| Ennerdale Camp. |
We were both carrying about 17kg, with the majority of mine being the tent and climbing rack, and Ian's being the food, cooking clobber and the rope. Of course, on top of that, we were both carrying sleeping bags, sleeping mats, water proofs, climbing shoes and harness, drinks and scoff for the days adventure. The walk up to the gap is quite steep in places, and with the intense mid morning sun and the substantial loads, it was heavy going. I must confess, it was quite a relief to find ourselves finally on the top of the gap with the knee crunching and thigh stretching descent between us and the valley below. Over the last few years I have been trying to use my walking poles less and less in an effort to increase my leg strength, and I think this has been successful to some degree. However, on this occasion I was only too willing to take all the help I could get, and shamefully employed my poles with gusto, allowing me to float up, then down, on wings of gossamer and helium...... and Slipknot are known for their cello recitals. The walk down into the valley isn't too bad really, and is improved by the views of Pillar on the opposite side about 5 km to the south west, this being our ultimate goal for the day. So, soaking wet with sweat, we walked past the Black Sail youth hostel and on towards a small footbridge crossing the inviting, crystal clear water of the River Liza (I only know that because I just checked the map!). Another five minutes and we reached our camp site on the opposite bank to the hostel. I suppose you can guess the level of relief you feel when you first drop your rucksack after a heavy weight amble? If you can't, you have never lived! Within the hour the tent was up, bait had been scoffed, and my 55 litre rucksack was repacked with the climbing essentials, more scoff and the standard outdoors clobber. We had decided that for this part of the trip we would take it in turns to carry either the rucksack or the rope and swap regularly. ONWARDS! The initial ascent follows a water course called Sail Beck, which is the result of mountain water run off from Kirk Fell. It's a real slog, but gets you up to 600 metres fairly quickly.
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| The path to Scarth Gap. |
From this point forward we walked parallel to the valley floor along the high level traverse for about 4km until the path starts to descend back down to 500 metres and brings you round to the buttress known as Pillar Rock, standing apart from Pillar itself. Deftly (i.e., didn't fall over too often) we moved with purpose (i.e., stumbled) up the scree gulley to the climb starting point. Big boots off and in the rucksack, climbing shoes and harness on, the ensemble completed by festooning ourselves with Dyneema slings, carabiners, quick draws, cams, nuts on wires, belay devices .....errrm,.......oh yeah, and the rope of course. As previously mentioned, we had done this route before, but as a trio with another climbing chum, and in that configuration whoever goes first (leads) has to stay at the front. At the time I didn't clock that one until I was on the second pitch of the climb and ended up having to lead the whole climb. I never said I was bright. This time though, Ian was going to lead and I would "second" carrying the rucksack. Rock Climbing 101: Usually you climb as a pair. Both tied in to opposite ends of the rope. The leader climbs first putting in protection such as nuts, cams, hexes, slings on projections or threads, and attaches these to "runners" (quick draws, which are a pair of spring gated carabiners connected by either a nylon or Dyneema sling, protection in one end and the rope clipped through the other). As the leader ascends, the rope travels with him, and if he falls, the second can stop the rope paying out, braking with the belay device. As long as the protection holds, everyone is happy..... So, assuming the leader hasn't taken a fall, he gets to a suitable point in the climb where he can make a nice secure anchored position, then covers the ascent of the second climber using his own belay device. As the second ascends, he takes the protection back out again. This is classed as multi pitch climbing, and in this way you can climb routes hundreds of metres long with a 50 metre rope. But, I digress. Ian is off like a rocket, hurtling up the vertical face like he's out for a jog (this is nothing new by the way), stopping occasionally to slot a cam into a deep enough gap or dropping a sling over a robust rock spike. All was going well for the first three pitches, with me safely tucked up in the bottom of a chimney, anchored in on an absolutely bomb proof chock stone thread, and Ian mooching around above me pushing the envelope. And then I noticed that Ian had disappeared out of the chimney, not that I was worried, the rope was still paying out, he was still making progress..... Now, as I recalled, the route went straight up from this point and I fully expected to be able to see Ian most of the way up on the last two remaining pitches....And the rope was still paying out.... and there was only 3 metres left. "Ian"' I shouted, "3 metres left". The distant response of "Oh, bugger" drifted down to me from high on my right as I faced into the chimney. Everything seemed to stop for a while, clearly there was something going off I didn't understand and my last shouted communication with Ian did not bode well. "Oh, bugger" I repeated Ian's mantra to myself, starting to feel a bit alone. Fear is a funny thing, you keep telling yourself that all is well, that you are within 50 metres of the top, that you are so well secured there is nothing to fret about, that the Mountain Rescue Team are really a jolly bunch of chaps whom you will never need to make the acquaintance of, and then, inexplicably, your mouth does an impersonation of Death Valley... And then Ian shouts for you to take in the slack, which means he is moving again, just in the wrong direction. Anyway, whatever the problem was (I will find out later), he confirms that he is safe, and that I can take him off belay. He takes in the slack then gives me a call of "climb when ready", to which I respond with "climbing" as I take out the thread anchor, and I'm off. And then it starts to become clear. The chimney above is soaking wet, so Ian had traversed off to the right around three vertical ribs of rock with small grassy ledges between each one.
You can't see around the ribs, you can only feel for the holds, its like trying to find a light switch on the other side of the door frame while standing on roller skates, and with the rucksack dragging me off balance, it would be fair to say it played with my confidence a teensy weensy little bit. And that was with a rope on me, so it was probably even less pleasant for Ian, because if he had taken a fall, the last bit of protection was about 10 metres back, and it would have resulted in a long pendulum swing. And he would have been only too aware of this. As I finally swung around the final rib, with the weight of my rucksack adding to my momentum, Ian's big cheesey grin came into view. "Exciting, eh? Wasn't sure if you would make it around the traverse!". He wasn't the only one. I re-anchored on a wicked big sling and spike arrangement, passed on the protection gear that I had retrieved and he was off again on the last pitch. And the scarey traverse was worth the effort, the last pitch was glorious, near vertical, huge drops wherever you looked, nothing except fresh air under your heels, excellent grippy rock, and surprisingly easy climbing straight up. On the top of High Man, a 5 minute breather while we pack up our gear and change into our boots. Oh, the relief, climbing shoes are the most unnatural, uncomfortable bits of leather and rubber you can cram your tootsies into. Try it sometime, you will not be disappointed. All secured, we follow the classic scramble route of Notch and Slab off the top (very steep and exposed, and all down climbing, did I mention I hate down climbing?), then on to the path that takes you to the top of Pillar itself. Another half hour of upward slog and there is the deserted trig point. Hurrah. Views? Yes, there were some of those.
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| Back down the Gap |
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You could even just about see the Youth Hostel close to where we had camped back down on the valley floor. As our friend Bazz once aptly commented, "it looks so impossibly far away". After a half a Mars bar each, we set off on our return leg, which follows a particularly good path right across the top, losing 300 metres height over 4km until we finally pick up the 600 metre direct descent route back to the valley floor. And the tent was still there, BONUS! I think by now it was getting on for just after 17:00, so a quick splash around in the river, then Ian started making our evening meal. For starters, spicey Butternut Squash soup followed by Spinach and Ricotta pasta with a pokey sauce. Then Ian pulls out two small bottles of red wine to go with the pasta, an excellent and most welcome surprise. It was at this point I realised I had forgotten to bring my camping plate, mug and cutlery, but never fear, I just scoffed mine straight out of the pan (scruffy bugger that I am). Bit of a tidy up, and while Ian got a proper camp fire going I sorted out and repacked the climbing gear. The rest of the night we sat around the fire drinking hot chocolate with brandy - mine out of a pan of course -(about 50/50 the way I felt the following morning) yakking about our glorious conquest, although it may as well have been the north face of The Eiger by the time the brandy was finished. I think I was spark out before 22:00, and before I knew it, it was 07:00 and the camp site was being investigated by a pair of large, intimidating and inquisitive bulls. Fortunately, after realising that all the brandy had gone, they decided to look elsewhere. Just over an hour later, everything was back in the rucksacks and we were on our way, full of great ideas about doing Scafell Pike via Wasdale before going home. By the time we got to the top of Scarth Gap this had changed to breakfast at the cafe in the George Fischer outdoors shop in Keswick with potential for spending money in other establishments of daylight robbery that abound in the same town. An uneventful but tiring descent, passing lots of people moving in the opposite direction and we were back to the car. A short drive in to Keswick and breakfast shortly followed. Revived to some degree by excellent coffee and toasted tea cakes, a short wander around the purveyors Event and Gortex ensued. It was here that Ian found and purchased his new foldaway baseball hat, of such ingenious design that the architect of said item must have been on for a Nobel Prize (according to Ian). We then hobbled back to the car (well, I hobbled, Ian strode with great purpose, wondering why no one was paying any attention to his new hat), made our excuses to no one in particular, and I drove us home using a clever arrangement of broom handles and string to operate the pedals (damn those climbing shoes). Overall, a fantastic weekend of high adventure, punctuated by moments of alcoholic indifference, raging camp fires, nosey bulls and consumerism of the worst kind. It could not have been any better really....... could it? Nah, not a chance!
Robin ( with all the hard work done by Ian).
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