G. P. Abraham & Sons, Photos Keswick
The Great End Gullies seen from Sprinkling Tarn
(Face page 90)
Far away to the right, where the cliff has shrunk to but one-third of its full height at the Central Gully, a black cleft may be descried that leads from scree to sky-line. This is Cust’s Gully, indifferent as a summer climb, but always beautiful in the richness of its rock scenery, and especially interesting in winter, when drift snow offers a royal road to the top. Every one has a kind word for Cust’s Gully. It is only called the Cussed gully by ignorant novices who inquire whether Skew of Skew Ghyll fame was a member of the Alpine Club. When it is marked out by snow we can from the path just distinguish the great rock bridge or natural arch across the upper part of the cleft.
Great End Central Gully.—This wonderful ravine offers some special feature every winter. Its individuality changes so completely under the mask of snow, or ice, or rain, that an attempt to describe the gully by an account of any one expedition must of necessity be only partially successful.
One fine winter morning a year or so ago we had a large party at Wastdale, and for once in a way were all of the same mind as to our day’s plans. The walk up towards the Styhead Pass—the Schweinhauskopfjoch of the Swiss travellers among us—would just suit our conversationally-minded fraternity, to whom Brown Tongue or the Pillar Fell or the Gable-end offered gradients too steep for words. We sallied forth from the inn with many axes and great lengths of rope, and lazily worked our way along the valley. The lower path, entirely obliterated by the snow, took us across the stream to the right on to the low slopes of Lingmell. Piers Ghyll stream was crossed without notice, for here the gorge is not at all in evidence and requires closer examination to reveal its magnificence. Then, rising a few feet, we crossed the hollow of Grainy Ghyll and made towards Spout Head and Skew Ghyll. The snow gave us some glorious effects on the hills around. The Mosedale amphitheatre of noble mountains towered above Wastdale, and mutely questioned us as to the accuracy of the surveyors who could give them not even three thousand feet of elevation above us. Nowadays theodolites are taken to the mountains and misused with great effect; why should not the Pillar and Red Pike benefit similarly to the extent of a thousand feet or so? There above us on our left was Great Gable, a White pyramid cutting into a dark sky, at least ten thousand feet of mountain beauty between us and its snowy crest. Who could believe that the summit was only 2,900 feet above sea level? But the engineer among us calmly reminded me of an interesting aneroid observation I had once taken of the top of Moss Ghyll on Scawfell, making it a hundred feet higher than Scawfell itself. Was I to rank myself as a truthful scientist and be contented with the ordnance survey records, or as an artist who should represent heights, shapes, and colours as his imperfect senses make them? We closed the discussion in favour of the artist and then sloped (without slang) up to Skew Ghyll.
This was in splendid condition; the snow was deep and hard, and out of sheer pleasure in step-cutting, three or four enthusiasts carved their own staircases up through the ‘narrows’ and away towards the little pass above us. It was to be noticed that the steps gradually converged to one line as the leaders felt their muscles wearying, and they were willing to fall in with the caravan now trailing up in single file like the elements of a kite’s tail. At the top of our little pass we could see straight down Borrowdale. Skiddaw and Blencathara formed the distant background. Derwent-water reflected a dark sky, and by contrast with its snowy shores looked of an inky blackness. Styhead Tarn was not very beautiful; ice had formed on it a week before, but had since been broken up by the wind, and the great flakes of crystal unevenly crusted with drift snow gave a sense of roughness and of incompleteness out of keeping with the finished beauty of the surroundings.
We stayed up here for a few minutes, and then contoured along the side of Great End in the direction of Esk Hause. The ground was rough; here and there the snow required cutting. But no difficulties were met with until the narrow entrance to the Central Gully suddenly disclosed itself in the precipitous wall on our right. The gully points down towards the eastern corner of Sprinkling Tarn. It begins where the cliff stands nearest to the Esk Hause path, and is not to be mistaken for the South-east Gully that points directly towards the sharp bend in the little stream rattling down to Borrowdale.
At the entrance to our climb we stopped to consider the question of roping up. ‘Union is strength’ only within certain narrow limits, when the bond of union is an Alpine rope. It often involves loss of time.