The Hand-Traverse.—Nearly two years after the ascent described in the previous section, Dr. Collier showed me a way of avoiding the Savage Gully in the North Climb by following a direct route to the upper screes. The plan is to work to the extreme east corner of the ledge that succeeds the ‘mantelshelf,’ and when a narrow overhanging chimney is reached, to swarm up the steep buttress on its left. It looks particularly dangerous, but there is an excellent hold for the hands just round the corner of the buttress, and when the first three feet of ascent are accomplished the rest feels comparatively easy.
On the same occasion we each in turn ventured on the hand-traverse from above. The place has already been referred to; it was known for some time that the crack could be reached from the terrace below, and Mr. Solly showed in 1891 that it could be followed to its left-hand extremity at the scree gully. It is so named because the climber hangs by his hands, with no footholds at all for the greater part of its length, and traverses across the face by sheer strength of his arms. Collier and I were well satisfied concerning the security of the crack itself. We went to the further end and back again, without coming across any place where the holds were treacherous. They were probably more satisfying to the grip than an ordinary horizontal bar, on account of the acute edge of the rock. On the other hand, we had no opportunity of trying the ascent from the terrace, which promised to be rather fatiguing for the arms, and which might render them useless for the traverse itself.
On Whit Monday, 1896, a chance came for tackling the pitch in this new way. It had been successfully accomplished once, and twice had the climber’s strength of grip failed him when half-way across. So, at any rate, we learnt by hearsay at Wastdale. Perhaps it ought to be added that in one case it was the leader of the party who fell off, and the rope saved him in a manner scarcely short of miraculous; in the other case the rope was held from the scree gully, and the climber only swung out on it. Our Whitsuntide party were willing that I should try, and carefully measured out just a sufficiency of rope for me to reach the crack. Then two of them stood together at the western extremity of the terrace, and shouldered me up the first bad bit. There was every reason to be quick, as resting-places were absent where the strain on the arms could be eased. In twenty-five feet I reached the crack and halted for a moment on a scanty foothold before trusting to the ledge. Then came the swing off and a hasty sliding of the hands along the sharp edge. The first bit was about eight feet long; then that particular crack terminated abruptly in the wall, and another, two feet higher, continued across in the same easterly direction. The lift of the body up to the second crack was trying, but beyond this critical point the movement was horizontal. It was somewhat clumsy—the scraping of the body along the rough surface of the rock, with the legs held clear; but my sole thought was to reach the end of the traverse twelve feet away, and no consideration of style was entertained. In a very short time, though it seemed far too long, the end of the wall was attained, and it only remained to drag myself up to the scree.
The rest of the party preferred to mount the buttress by Collier’s route indicated in a previous paragraph. I think the hand-traverse has not been attempted since, and it is perhaps just as well. It is scarcely less than suicidal to try conclusions with this variation unless the climber has full confidence in his strength of grip, and unless he has already tested his powers of endurance of long-continued strain in the arms. But with the leader of the party already at the head of the pitch, no matter which way he got there, it involves no serious risk for the others to follow by this route. The last on the rope had better come up over the buttress.
CHAPTER XVIII
NOTES ON REMAINING CLIMBS
In this chapter it is proposed to deal summarily with a few remaining rock-climbs that have not yet been described. Some are rather awkward to reach, others are perhaps too slight to be worth the time spent in reaching them unless they actually turn up in the day’s march. One or two I have not visited, and am reluctant to accept the responsibility of guiding people up them. But
What he thought he might require,
He went and took—the same as me!
is too general a motto among book-writers for me to hesitate long before incorporating other people’s notes, and the attempt will be made to acknowledge the source in each case.
Piers Ghyll.—This is a fine-looking ravine on the north side of Lingmell, occasionally visited by climbers. It has four or five comparatively easy pitches before the big bend, but at the point where the main gully is bridged by a great mass of rock the whole width of the ravine is occupied by a waterfall fifty feet high, and any attempt to force a passage up this pitch is peculiarly unsatisfactory unless a rainless season has much diminished the volume of water passing down. Such a season was that of 1893, and in April of that year Dr. Collier led the first party up the whole length of the ghyll. Even under those favourable circumstances the climb was very difficult, and no other party has succeeded in repeating the ascent. Dr. Collier tells me that the hardest bit is up the narrow pitch before reaching the great fall. The latter offers a choice of two or three routes.