A few feet in front was a long thin crack, looking easy but proving awkward at close quarters. We found it best to traverse up the smooth slab on the left and then crawl along a rickety ledge of grass and rock back to the gully again. Were we nevermore to find an easy piece? Almost at once a ninth pitch faced us, looking somewhat like the eighth. The gully suddenly narrows to a V-groove which springs up vertically for twelve feet, then slopes away at 45° for twenty feet, and finally is blocked by a few boulders before widening out again. Just before the constriction occurs, the walls of the ravine slope outwards at an easy angle, and the tangle of thickly-matted grass disguises the treacherous character of the rock underneath. This has been splintered and loosened by frost and sturdy vegetation. Great masses in many steep places are ready to fall at a touch, and scrambling is robbed of its pleasures by the sense of possible insecurity of every available hold. I tried at first to keep up the crack, but just at the corner where it trends obliquely upwards the difficulties of holding on proved too great and a cautious descent had to be effected. Then we looked to the left up a steep little gully fifty feet high. It ended abruptly in the main wall of the ravine, but a great splinter of rock at the highest corner gave us a chance of belaying. Bowen clambered gingerly over the broken ground and tied himself to the rock. Then, slipping my rope round it, he prepared to hold me during the next move. Our plan was to clamber up the loose face on the left of the awkward pitch and traverse into the gully twenty-five feet higher. My rope was dragging along the wall, and would have dislodged a good deal if suddenly called upon to break my fall. The worst bit was the last six feet of traverse, which I very much loosened during the passage. The gully was then bestridden and both sides used for the finishing portion of the pitch. When Bowen came along, the traverse broke away at his touch, and it was rather alarming to see him start falling backwards. But the rope was tight above him and he simply swung round into the gully; it was the most expeditious mode of entering, but he bruised his leg a little at the final bump. We afterwards agreed that the second man ought to take the whole obstacle direct. Trying to repeat the ascent again in April, 1898, by exactly the same manœuvres, the slight remnant of traverse broke away with me and I had a bad fall. I was saved, of course, by the rope. The direct ascent of the watercourse has been proved to be possible, and is now much the better way.
Such was the ninth pitch, probably the one misjudged by Dr. Lawrence’s party on April 9, 1895. They had taken four hours to climb to the eighth, remarkably good going when one considers the bad condition of the gully during their ascent and the amount of new ground they managed to cover. We had mounted in a little less than an hour and three quarters; but we were only a small party and the circumstances very favourable. They saw a hundred-feet pitch following on a few yards higher and endeavoured to estimate its difficulties. From below the aspect is terrifying, and after a slight survey they decided to work out of the ravine by an easy exit up the left wall. Thence they saw a few more pitches higher up beyond the tenth, and were convinced that they had done right. But they were mistaken, as our experience proved.
A little direct scrambling up the bed of the gully took us to the foot of the great obstacle. A water-shoot splashes on to the left wall eighty feet up, and is deflected into the cavernous depths of a black recess formed in the gully by a long buttress that divides it into two parts. The climb up through the splashing water appears to be almost hopeless, and a view from above of the last twenty feet shows that the risk would be extreme if the pitch were attacked on that side. But the buttress will be found on inspection to close in a sort of chimney on the right, fairly easy to reach and most comfortable to follow up to its finish three feet above the level of the top of the waterfall. This branch chimney is safe and dry. There are no loose stones about, and the occasional glimpses of the furious shoot over the way are very pleasing. They were so to us, at any rate, who had been in fear and trembling lest we should be compelled to attack the pitch through the waterfall. We were surprised at our good fortune, and none the less on seeing that the difficulties above were insignificant. A short scree and an easy twelve-feet obstacle brought us up to the well-known traverse across the face of the mountain.
We could hear occasional shouting of our friends in the Great Gully. It tempted us to work over to them and finish on the final chimneys of their climb. But we felt constrained to keep straight up, lest any further pitches should linger unclimbed. The C gully was to acknowledge itself vanquished from beginning to end, and we set ourselves to finish the task. Little actually remained. A steep climb of thirty feet, using both sides of the gully, with poor holds near the top, virtually brought us to an end of its interesting and extended series of pitches. A scramble up the last water-slide and a muddy slope led to the long scree finish, and we emerged at the summit shortly after two o’clock. The walk home over Ill Fell took an hour and a half.
CHAPTER XIV
PAVEY ARK
The Langdale Pikes form a beautiful group of hills four miles to the east of the Scawfell Pikes. They lie at the head of Langdale, and the highest point, Harrison Stickle, is a prominent object in many a favourite landscape.
Harrison Stickle is splendidly shaped, and manages to give an impression of much greater height than it really possesses (2,401 feet). Half a mile to the west is the Pike of Stickle or the Sugarloaf. It has a little climbing on the west face. Mr. Gwynne writes of it thus: ‘The Sugarloaf itself is a very fine peak, that, viewed from the valley, has very much the appearance of the Mönch. It runs down towards the Stake Pass in a spur, which must be the starting-point of most of the climbs on this mountain. There is a curious gully here, which is worthy of the climber’s attention. It does not run from top to bottom, but suddenly begins about the middle of the crag. The difficulty is to get at this gully, and some pretty climbing can be obtained in the attempt.’
Somewhat south of the mid-point between Harrison Stickle and the Sugarloaf is the summit of Gimmer Crag. It overlooks the old hotel of Dungeon Ghyll, and offers in dry weather a considerable amount of indiscriminate scrambling.
