I really am going to change this page!....some day.
Tower Ridge in Winter
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Being not insensitive to exposure, I remained constantly aware of Observatory gully yawning hungrily at my heels. I made slow but steady progress. To Bell and Laidlaw, the long delay, approximately an hour, was thoroughly exasperating. They could not see what I was doing, nor what the difficulties were, but could hear the metallic ring of the axe and occasionally glimpse the scurry of ice-chips into the void. The inch-by-inch movement of the rope stood in horrid contrast to the swift flight of time. The eastern sky was growing coldly pale in prelude to night. From time to time I heard low growls, urging me not to dawdle, or muffled barks of alarm, drawing my attention to the revolution of the earth and the corresponding need for speed by climbers. But I felt greatly cheered when I thought what my taskmasters would say upon treading these ledges themselves. Eventually the hitherto impossible wall above me lay at a climbable angle and I started straight up for the crest. The rock was thickly fluffed with snow, which I laboriously scraped off with my axe, disclosing slabs wrinkled like the hide of an elephant. I found woolen gloves of great advantage over bare hands, which would simply have slipped off the rock; whereas the wool lightly froze to the wrinkles and gave a fairly secure hold. I crawled twenty feet up the slabs and drew level with the crest of the ridge. The coping of snow was wind-moulded to a delicate knife-edge. I popped my head over the top and looked down the other side.
If you want to know more then read Bill Murray's book Mountaineering in Scotland |
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