The lower part of the climb very much resembles the corresponding portion in the other gully. The side walls are close together, the rock is steep, and hand-and-foot scrambling fairly continuous for about 150 feet. When the rocks are wet some special care is necessary at a place thirty feet from the starting-point. Then comes the first pitch, a remarkably fine piece of rock scenery. An enormous boulder completely blocks the way, projecting at least fifteen feet at its upper part. The left wall is practically hopeless, but the other side shows a series of small ledges that enable the climber to work up to the flat corner between the boulder and the right wall. Formerly this bit was grassy. Only a few small tufts now remain, and the holds are therefore more obvious. A pleasanter way lies through the cave and out by a narrow tunnel in the roof to the same flat corner, which is just discernible from below. That way our party followed. The dripping water from the roof was a trifle unpleasant sometimes, but there was a great sense of security in adopting the through route. The tunnel required careful going until one’s eyes got accustomed to the darkness. Then the handholds could be distinguished and the platform reached in safety.
The view outwards was most brilliant. Sunlight on the distant range of Fairfield and Helvellyn, the serpentine Windermere appearing here and there far away to the south; Langdale in all its loveliness, with the watch-tower of Harrison Stickle at its head; and the gloomy Stickle Tarn 500 feet beneath us. Our own situation was sufficiently striking for the recollection of this pitch to remain impressed on our memories. We stood (one at a time, by the way) on the very edge of the overhanging eaves of the huge cave beneath. The side walls of the gully seemed to cut us off from all communication with the world. We could only realize the solid platform and the enduring rock to which we hung; all the rest might have been a fantasy. Even the bold fisherman down by the shores of the tarn, slowly manipulating his rod as he cautiously waded knee-deep in the water, seemed to belong to another species. It was incredible that I should be crossing London within twenty-four hours; and the thought of it only stirred slightly in my mind, without actually shaping itself until this present time of writing.
The difficulty was not quite passed. To reach the top of the pitch we had to haul ourselves up a tight little corner between the boulder and the side wall. Formerly the headroom was so limited that it was necessary to keep out a little, and effect a rather sensational haul over the front of the boulder. Since the first ascent a piece of rock has fallen away, and the corner is easier. There is no actual danger for the leader, as his rope can be securely held in the interior of the cave. In fact, he may, if he chooses, obtain any desired assistance from the second man properly belayed on the platform. The corner is only ten feet high and the rocks are very good.
Almost immediately after the first pitch the gully undergoes a great change in appearance. It still remains narrow, but the bed has alternately vertical and horizontal stretches of wet and slippery rock. The hardest piece is generally regarded as the second pitch. It consists of a long slab thirty feet high, constituting the true bed of the ghyll and the only available way up. It is set at a steep angle, and appears to be singularly devoid of useful holds. On the occasion of the first ascent it was ‘lubricated by a film of fine mud,’ and our own observations gave strength to the conviction that such was its usual condition. Loose gravel is being continually washed down the incline, lodging in a most annoying manner on the best holds. Small wonder that this ‘brant and slape’ part gives pause to many climbers. Yet it has been climbed even when ice is about, thanks no doubt to good nails and cool judgment. We treated the pitch with the utmost respect, carefully clearing away the grit from each little ledge and working as close to the corner as the holds would permit. Fifteen feet up we passed the worst spot, ugly to look at but not bad enough to turn us back. Then the slope eased off and we could walk up grass and scree on to Jack’s Rake, a hundred feet above the pitch. The rake really terminates the gully. To the left is a small chimney forming a genuine little obstacle to an advance along the rake. That was certainly no suitable finish to our climb. A few yards to the right showed what we wanted, a gully that should lead out to the top of Pavey Ark. We found the rocks there presented the rough surface that characterised the boulders up above. There were several great slabs blocking our way at first, but it was a real delight to get over them. A short and narrow chimney followed, with such gripping powers that our clothes clung to the sides tenaciously. As Haskett Smith remarks, ‘it would be quite difficult to make a slip on them.’ Then we walked out to the top, three-quarters of an hour after entering the gully, and while leisurely coiling up my rope we discussed the question of tea. Should the others accept my invitation to Dungeon Ghyll and then return to Wastdale at dusk, or should they make straight for Wastdale at once? To my sorrow they objected to the suggested extension of their walk and strode off to the west. My own course lay first to the foot of the crags, where my rücksack had been left, and thence to Dungeon Ghyll and Coniston.
The Rake End Chimney.—Besides the third chimney described by Gwynne as running half-way up on to the ledge, there is a short but excellent route up the crags starting near the foot of Jack’s Rake. The following note was supplied by Mr. Claude Barton:—‘The climb is in two pitches, the first being broken up into places where you can play up a second man. The mauvais pas is just at the top of this. A moss-grown wall and two jammed stones must be surmounted, and the leader may need some support. The second pitch is a fine chimney blocked by a large stone that is passed by the interior, and then used as a take-off for the final easy concluding portion. The climb is certainly harder than the Great Gully.’
CHAPTER XV
DOE CRAG, CONISTON
This happy hunting-ground for the rock-climber is within an hour’s walk of Coniston. It forms part of the range of hills that includes Wetherlam and the Old Man, but unlike these great neighbours it has hitherto been left untouched by miners and quarry-men.
From the Old Man we may look westwards across the upper end of Goat’s Water, and see the summit of Doe Crag almost at our level, some 900 feet above the lake. We are facing its grand precipices, and are in an excellent position to prospect the various gullies that cut deeply into the 500-feet wall of rock.
The first of these, as we glance from left to right, causes the greatest impression in the sky-line, but is of the least interest to mountaineers. It is an easy scree gully, possessing a rotten pinnacle that was first climbed by Mr. Slingsby in 1887. The second is generally known as the Great Gully. It is much longer, and includes a fair amount of genuine hard work in its ascent. At a distance it appears to have a Y shape, by reason of the two branches that diverge from a point about half-way up. The Great Gully was first climbed in July, 1888, by Messrs. Hastings, Haskett Smith, and E. Hopkinson, its first pitch being then taken by the ‘shallow scoop’ on the left of the great obstacle. Nearly a year later the brothers Hopkinson effected a direct ascent of the pitch by an ingenious utilization of the rope, to which we shall refer subsequently.