Winter Goliath

Recently I was asked to tell the tale of the first winter ascent of Goliath. Andy Inglis, who asked, had recently done Vertigo Wall and had walked passed the line on his way to that route. Over the years I’ve told bits of the story many times and may even have captured it in writing in a long lost Lairig Journal. Much of it is very clear in my mind though it may not tally with Andy Nisbet’s memories of the day. I can still remember the gnawing cold in the bothy, my awe at an ice streak down Giant and the sinking feeling in my gut when I saw where we were going. The current history in the SMC guide has us as doing the route on the Tuesday but that was the night we walked in. Anyway here is my attempt at pulling it together. Enjoy.

As far as I am aware Goliath as only had 2 successful ascents, of which the second was the day after the first. Wilson Moir and Niall Ritchie got high on it but conditions defeated them and I’m not sure of other attempts. It strikes me as one of those most elusive things because of where it is but also what it needs, good ice for the first pitch and a veneer of ice for the upper pitch. The key first pitch misses the summer traverse and corner and climbs the icy groove later taken in summer by Israelite. The second pitch is common to summer up a rib. Pitch 3 couldn’t reach the summer cracks and takes a frightening traverse right to a groove.

Winter 1980.
Tuesday night was circuits night at Aberdeen uni Butchart Recreation Centre. A brutal affair of shuttle runs, star jumps and all sorts of torture. Over 50 regulars would sweat it out and, occasionally, struggle to the Bobbin Mill for a recovery drink afterwards. Andy Nisbet, Brian Sprunt, Steve Kennedy and Charlie MacLeod where regulars and Neil Spinks led the sessions. Opting out was not an option unless…… Andy Nisbet was hanging about at the doorway looking for a winter climbing partner. A student would be best as they were always off on Wednesday afternoon and what did a couple of missed lectures in the morning matter? Andy was renowned for his drive and ability to grind his way up routes and we had named him the Droid. That evening Andy was getting desperate, he would pretty much climb with anyone but there were few folk available and he had a big plan – a winter ascent of Goliath on the Dubh Loch. He knew conditions were good as the Edinburgh team of Rab Anderson and Rob Milne had plucked the much sought after White Elephant from under the noses of the Aberdonians. The story goes that Rab, on a high from White Elephant, had told some passing climber that he would be back on the Thursday for Goliath and this had somehow made it back to Aberdeen and Andy.

My own winter climbing up to that point had bagged me 17 routes with only 4 of them Grade IV. Most, maybe all, had been on ice rather than the mixed climbing required at the Dubh Loch. Andy wasn’t fussy though and he was desperate so in lieu of anyone else I was selected/persuaded and instructed to go and pack my kit and we would head for Glas Allt bothy that evening. In hindsight I still think how driven Andy must have been to contemplate what he knew would be a hard winter ascent with such a novice. Andy came across to me as shy and quite reserved but inside he had a real confidence in his own ability to get up a route.

I suspect our drive up Deeside was in Andy’s Austin Maxi but it could have been my rust bucket Fiat 128 which took us to a cold and snowy Glen Muick. I remember a cold, cold night and that my nose kept dripping on the walk in. I had a really tatty red Helly Hansen fleece and kept wiping my nose on its sleeve until I eventually realised my nose was bleeding! Tissues up the nostrils seemed to sort that.

Glas Allt was bitterly cold and lacked a proper floor or fire and I shivered in a paper thin sleeping bag, at some ungodly hour Andy put on the Primus and produced a brew. This was thrust at me along with 2 Rowies stuck together with Tate and Lyle Golden Syrup. It was so cold it was like chewing cardboard. Getting up was easy as I had all my clothes on inside my sleeping bag.

I had never been to the Dubh Loch before and the walk in was through deep snow but with tracks from the weekend. I recall very little about it and suspect it was pretty claggy as I don’t remember being struck by the scale of the cliff until inside Central Gully – perhaps I was just breathing hard and head down to keep up with the Droid. One would never have described him as fast on his feet but he just kept plodding on. My memories of Central Gully are of a huge streak of ice down what I was told was Giant. It was stunning though I think incomplete. Further up the Gully I recall looking at another ice streak in awe. It disappeared into an easing in the cliff with a snow dusted arête then slab above. It looked staggering and so improbable and the penny had yet to drop. My awe became real apprehension as Andy dumped his sack and announced this was our line. Still, there was no backing out. We geared up and I think Andy supplied me with food in the form of a block of yellow marzipan, sugar in a big way!

Looking up Goliath in full winter condition, photo by Niall Ritchie on the day of his attempt to repeat the route with Wilson Moir

The first pitch takes an icefall of sorts which spills from a spring at a third height on the cliff. It flows down a steep groove (now the summer Israelite) with a small overlap at its base and then down the summer traverse slabs. Andy climbed the slabs well and I seem to think he got good gear at the base of the groove at a bulge that barred access but gave an icy thread or two. Replete with his standard issue Pterodactyls he then battled the awkward icy groove which proved longer and steeper than it looked from below. He must have placed ice screws and it was certainly thick enough. At the top a stiff little bulge gave way to slabbier ground and a belay on the right back on the summer line. I followed on ground I was familiar with from my apprenticeship on Ben Udlaidh. The ice was steep and gave superb climbing and I remember getting horrendous hotaches and a pump to end all pumps at the top bulge. I used Stubai Messner axes which were ok but had thick blades that struggled to penetrate the ice. They also had short picks and straight shafts so my knuckles took a steady battering. Though it was pre stretchy leashes my axes were clipped to my Whillans harness by thin cord that got in the way of everything. Crampons were Stubai strap on twin points on heavy leather boots.

Wilson Moir on the Goliath Icicle, photo courtesy Niall Ritchie

Anyway, so far so good, I was quickly secured to the belay with Andy grabbing the gear ready for the next pitch. Pitch 2 moved out left onto a steep rib with a bulge barring the way. Andy sidled out under the bulge then to and froed several times clearing torques and edges, placing gear and psyching for the task. Andy found an undercling by shoving his axe up into a crack and this let him reach over to poor hooks. He launched over the bulge then ground his way upwards with the angle gradually easing but the ground becoming less accommodating. Fortunately the moves out left meant the debris was missing me most of the time though gusts of wind blew it and spindrift onto me. Thinking back it was a long belay session and bitterly cold. Belay jackets were unheard of back then and I would have had on wool long johns and shirt or maybe some Damart thermals (google it). I think I had a decent pair of salopettes that would this day be called soft shell, a Norwegian style pullover, my red Helly and a cotton/ventile type jacket. All was coated in a veneer of ice and it was topped off with a scratchy woollen balaclava that perpetually twisted round to the side and half blinded me under my red Ultimate fibreglass helmet. Gloves were Dachstein mitts, warmish but lacking any dexterity. After a long cold wait a belay was secured and it was my turn to climb.

Throughout the belay session I had been having my doubts about the bulge and my ability to get over it. The lack of gear immediately over the bulge meant there was nothing to aid up if I couldn’t climb it. I had never mixed climbed before and had pretty much psyched myself out with the cold and situation perched high on the wall with over half the route still to go and the brooding walls hanging above. I wished we could just ab off and be done with it but that wasn’t in the script. After the habitual waving of the arms in a vain attempt to warm up I bumbled out onto the edge below the bulge and took out the gear then followed Andy’s lead and shoved my axe up into a crack. I leant out and found a placement of sorts and after a bit of psyching up moved out. To gain any further progress I had to remove the axe I was underclinging but it seemed wedged irretrievably. I shuffled back down onto a sloping footledge and tugged at it at which point it came instantly loose and I fell off the cliff and ended up gently spinning under the bulge. I vividly remember hanging free and looking down into the Gully. I could just about touch the cliff and could probably get back in if lowered a wee bit but my mind was in overload and desperation took over. I decided I would prusik on one rope while Andy took in the other. Much shouting ensued while I communicated this and I attached my prusik loops to the rope, fashioned a sling for my foot only for each attempt at upward progress to fail as the loops slipped down the iced rope. I remember the despair at this point and thinking what on earth could we do. Throughout this my memory is that Andy was very patient though I can only imagine what he was thinking about this bumbling incompetent he was saddled with. Having failed to climb the rope I had at least heated up and Andy’s encouragement to give climbing another go was heeded. After swinging back into the rock and moving up I somehow got over the bulge and scraped my way to a chilled Andy.

All was not well at the belay though. It was nearly dark and, worse, the slab above was blank and bare. The obvious cracks where unreachable and we seemed stuffed. I began working out the abseil, it was surely the only sensible option. Instead Andy proposed donning head torches and going lateral! Towards Giant! With a big bulge below our feet! Whether it would go and whether it would lead to easier ground was questionable but in hindsight it was the key choice that made the route so special. That bit where a dead end has apparently been reached and the bold stroke is the one that is needed to secure the ascent.

Andy teetered up to a horizontal seam and beat a blade peg into it. Using a bit of tension he crabbed a move right until he could get bite in the veneer of ice that seemed thicker to the right. Lit by his headtorch he then started gingerly tip toeing horizontally right across the steep slab aiming for a corner with turf in its back. The ice was so thin that he couldn’t kick in his front points or they bounced back out. Axe placements were gentle taps and it took lots of tiny movements to reach the groove some 20ft right where I think there was a shout of relief and he beat a warthog into the turf. His headtorch then moved further right then disappeared leaving me feeling lonely and scared. Eventually Andy shouted down that he would try and get above me but the dark and the bulges militated against this working to any extent. The time came for me to come up with the goods. The peg was going to be hard to leave and I wouldn’t get the same tensioning effect that Andy had for the move onto the ice. A fall would let me swing into no mans land below a bulge and we knew I couldn’t prusik. Most of the fear slipped away as I was now in my own little pool of light and, fortunately, couldn’t see where I would end up. I decided I would abandon the peg and with the advantage of being tall I could hook it with my left and get established on the thin ice. Once on it I began the sideways teeter and think a couple of times I rested my head on the slab in despair at the rope drooping off to the side. Somehow it all worked though and I reached the sanctuary of the groove and warthog. I think I abandoned that as well in my desperation to get out of there. The groove had a hard start but then gradually eased until a snow slope and the belay.

Goliath in its full glory, no wonder I was a bit psyched out. Photo: Niall Ritchie

Andy led on into the dark and quickly brought me up. I think I nipped passed onto the plateau where my exhaustion was really beginning to tell. I staggered after Andy who led us into the top of Central Gully and down to our gear back at the base of the route. I remember Andy force feeding me a Mars bar at this point and then we headed off with rapidly fading torches. I suspect Andy was on a high and raving about his route but I was so tired and relieved that this washed over me. I don’t recall picking up our sleeping kit at Glas Allt but do recall the crowning highlight of the tale. As we wandered back along the Loch side two figures appeared in from of us. Murray Hamilton and Rab Anderson, pipped to the post by a day! I can’t recall their response but we were certainly chuffed as we headed home. The next day they repeated Goliath and freed our point of aid but ours was the first ascent and had the uncertainty that goes with it. It also had an outstanding lead throughout by Andy who coped with all the route and I could throw at him.

So there it is Goliath, first winter ascent as I remember it. My own contribution was as a poor portable belay but I did climb it all and I’ve always been a wee bit chuffed that when I had to, on the traverse of Pitch 3, I pulled it out of the bag. As climbing experiences go it is one of the best. Thanks Andy.

The Blackspout Pinnacle

 

Blackspout

Living in Aberdeen Lochnagar is special as it is our nearest real mountain. It is often seen from lower Deeside and even some points in the city. Aberdonians have been key figures in developing both winter and rock routes with the best of these focused around the Tough Brown face and the Blackspout Pinnacle. In my mind the pinnacle tops it as it has a summit and towers over the coire. It’s frontal face is slabby and deteriorates into more broken ground giving some great rock routes on the right and several winter routes but the looming and brooding side wall overlooking Blackspout gully is where it’s at.

My first teaching job in Kemnay gave me a glimpse of Lochnagar from the drive to work on the A96 just passed Blackburn and on clear days I would be waiting to see how it looked and then daydreaming about being there rather than the classroom. Over the years some of those daydreams in the car to became a reality. Two encounters stand out.

Blackspout Wall
At times in my climbing career I’ve stood at the bottom of a route and thought “what am I doing here, I’m way out of my depth”. On rock there have been several and my first encounter with the Blackspout pinnacle was undoubtedly one of them.

1983, a sultry summers day threatening rain later. Like many in the pre mobile phones era our plans had begun on a Thursday night in the Blue Lamp in the Gallowgate where many of the good, the great, the wannabes and the hangers on of the Aberdeen climbing scene met. Now I’m stood below the looming first pitch of Blackspout Wall eyes on stalks looking at the line. I’d never been in the spout before and had only seen a photo of two Aberdeen legends, Bob Smith and Dougie Dinwoodie, on the first ascent. The photo was from the top of Blackspout Buttress and showed a dizzying exposure. Dinwoodie and Smith had been forced to use a point of aid and I was here with another Blue Lamp legend, Brian Lawrie, to do the first free ascent – his idea, not mine. Brian, 12 years my senior, wasn’t new to the game as his pedigree went back to exploits like the first ascent of Dinosaur on the Dubh Loch’s central slabs with Jim Stenhouse in 1964 while still in his mid teens. Brian was also a master technician and had added a number of testing routes on the NE coast and he had been a partner of the legendary Jim McCartney. Despite Brian’s skills and reputation my thoughts were tempered by my one and only trip down the coast with Bob when he had soundly burned me off as he made the first ascent of his own Overhang at Long Slough. On the basis of this experience I could not see how we would free the route when he had failed. Brian though was the driver behind our proposed ascent and although sometimes tetchy in those stressful lead moments his drive could be special and he was fired up for the route. Brian was fretting about the weather and going through the usual pre route rituals in a corner of the gully but soon set off on the first pitch. All went well initially, if slowly, and soon Brian was eyeballing a very large angle peg which protruded from the crag. Below and left of this a traverse below an overlap led to a weakness which would allow the belay to be gained. Brian tied off the angle then dropped down level with the overlap. Round about this time two walkers of about my age came up the spout and I started blethering to them while Brian unlocked the leftwards sequence and, huffing and puffing, he began to surmount the bulge. Our shooting the breeze was interrupted by a string of curses and oaths mainly aimed at my belaying prowess and the horrendous rope drag that my poor skills were creating. Brian battled on though, tugging and teasing the rope until he was on the lip of the bulge. At this point all became clear – he had backclipped one of the nuts. A shouted conversation ensued until Brian accepted that was the case and battled down and then up to remedy the situation and reach the sloping belay shelf. The walkers were duelly impressed by the display, in fact so much so that one of them decided they wanted some of it and Wilson Moir then took up climbing proper. 20 years later Wilson and I would add our own route to the Blackspout Wall.

Once Brian was ensconced on the slopey belay perch I followed, my memories are vague other than it was a quality pitch which I struggled to second and how Brian had surmounted the bulge with the tension of the backclipped rope I do not know. I was relieved to pull over the bulge and arrived at the belay in an intimidated and knackered state. Looking up at the continuation corner I was already defeated and the slopey perch and slightly suspect belay further chipped away at my resolve. The fact that Bob Smith had fallen off the pitch didn’t help (it turned out later this was probably a foot slip on the lichen). Without much effort to overcome my fears I handed over to Brian who must have grumbled a bit but manfully took up the mantle. The swapping of the belay added further to my beaten mindset as I ended up in a situation where I seemed to be constantly sliding off into the drop below and didn’t want to fully trust the pegs and nuts. Years later, on the first ascent of Steep Frowning Glories, I enjoyed being in the same place and it seemed to have sprouted good gear and was less slopey – tricks of the mind! Brian set to on the pitch, a corner, and despite some moss and muck – usual for Lochnagar- and some initial worries over protection, it went at a steady E2 and, as I followed, I was kicking myself for backing off. My mind had let the situation and the reputation of others get the better of me and I had backed off a pitch I was easily capable of. I was making no real contribution to the ascent and the next pitch, which I led, at a pleasant Severe emphasised this. I brought Brian up to the spacious stance below the gable wall of the pinnacle and final pitch as the clouds got darker and more threatening. Brian felt or sensed drops of rain and descended into a dark mood where all his hard work lower down was going to be undone. He launched at the pitch but tiredness and a long stretch needed to place a cam conspired against him and after several tries he retreated to the ledge. Retrospectively I’ve always wondered if this was actually the case or a ploy to get me to get my finger out but Brian assures me he was simply tired and the placement was out of his reach. Whichever way he placed the ball firmly in my court and I had to finish things off. The first moves felt bold in the pre big cam days but my reach did let me get a reasonable cam in and after some initial dithering I launched through the moves and seem to recall clipping an in situ peg. The ground above was steep but steady and although liberally coated with Lochnagar’s blackest lichen the climbing was great and I was finally flowing. As I climbed there was a rising anxiety from Brian and every time I paused to study a move or place gear he shouted to get a move as the rain was coming. I couldn’t feel it but his exhortations became increasingly vocal and more of a rage and I skipped placements pushing on with long runouts to finally pull over onto easier ground on the upper pinnacle. A hurried belay and Brian was on his way climbing at speed as bigger spots turned to full rain and then a torrential downpour just as he pulled onto the ledge. A drenched plouter over the top of the Blackspout pinnacle onto the plateau then down the left hand branch and back to our waterproofs only added to our sense of euphoria at bagging the first free ascent and snatching it from the rain and the jaws of defeat. And the last pitch meant I had contributed something more than belaying.

Route 1
Winter climbing has been something I’ve toyed with over the years but never stuck at with the religious zeal of a true Aberdonian. While it was part of the whole package when I was young I have managed to retire several times and then be lured back by the challenge and the great hill days it gives. A further lure has been that gear has got better and better and clothing is way warmer! Long time friend Paul Allen was a bit the same until a day and evening on the Blackspout pinnacle in December 1992.

I’d ticked away at some of the Lochnagar classics over the years but had always wanted to do something on the pinnacle and conditions at Xmas seemed promising although the short day should have been a bit more prominent in our minds. Our start was a little late but we were working on the rationale that Route 1 has it’s crux at the start and is then easier. The day was glorious and still with no wind so if we had to do the last couple of pitches as it got dark it was no issue. The first pitch is the crux and was a cracking bit of climbing which I led up onto the Springboard. Paul followed quickly and from the spacious ledge he took the gear and headed diagonally left into the fault line. Gear was a bit sparse initially but the ground was easy and Paul’s rope looped over several turfy bosses. On gaining the base of the fault Paul got some good gear and set off to tackle the bulge that barred access to the groove. The turf was well frozen if a bit brittle but Paul quickly got his axes over the bulge and started walking his feet up so that he was in a bunched position. As he thrashed above with one arm seeking out the next placement his other axe blew! He shot off backwards landing on one leg but toppling over onto his back in a steep bay of snow below the bulge. Just as he came to rest the ropes decided to flip over the various turfy bulges in between and he fell further head down, sliding on his back -and clutching at his harness- with a loud wail. He came to rest some 5 meters lower just above a ledge. I was able to lower him to the Springboard and soon a shaken Paul limped round the wide ledge back to me. Now a lesser man would have called it a day and a better friend would have encouraged him in this. One quick ab and we could saunter home safe in the knowledge that we had done battle. This wasn’t to be and I pointed out that we had done the hard pitch, conditions were good and, of course, I would lead the remainder. I also seem to recall saying that it was still early! Reluctantly Paul was drawn in by this logic and my bravado so on we went. I surmounted the bulge fairly swiftly and pushed on to a belay high in the fault line with Paul following. A quick change and I set off again but the bulge above and right looked hideous and despite a lot of snow elsewhere was in very lean condition so I spied what appeared to be a more obvious line directly above in one of those moments when you make a description fit where you want to go rather than where the route actually goes. I suppose, in my mind, I knew but rationalised that the upper front face of the pinnacle has several lines that I could easily cope with. A further rationalisation was that it was increasingly dark and staying out on the open face meant we would benefit from any moonlight rather than the gloom of the Blackspout gully sidewall.

Having convinced myself of a logic and a path I set off. Within minutes I was working by headtorch and from early on I struggled to get gear and to protect awkward moves up surprisingly steep runnels and bulges. I was forced further and further left onto the face and was really at a loss to protect some of the wee traverses for Paul. Eventually I ran out of rope in the base of yet another shallow turfy groove. Despite all my efforts all I could place was a poor warthog and a couple of hexes which had to be resettled every few minutes when they slid out of their placements. No amount of frantic hammering seated them properly. The acid test was would I weight the belay and hang off it? Instead, I stamped a hole in the snow and I also clipped into my axes in the shallow turf then shouted for Paul to climb, tactically omitting to tell him the belay was atrocious.

As Paul set off I had the time to watch the head torch of a leader across the coire on the upper grooves of Backdoor Route. He was steadily picking his way up the grooves and was way above his two belayers when he let out a blood curdling wail and, picked out by the light of his torch, he appeared to bounce off down the cliff. I watched in horror and thought he was a goner as he tumbled and bounced down the cliff. His belayers must have thought this and began screaming in unison as the pinpoint of light flashed towards them and then passed them. But the light kept going until it was out of sight. Suddenly there was silence and I thought the worst until a voice shouted “don’t worry, I only knocked my head torch off!”.

The increasingly bad omens weighed heavily on my mind as Paul climbed closer, he was tiring fast, possibly suffering from shock and his leg was now giving him difficulty as it had stiffened up. As he approached the final wee groove and traverse before the belay one rope ran at right angles through a poor bit of gear and the other looped diagonally across to me and we could see each other through the beam of our headtorches. Paul’s face picked out by my headtorch showed all his discomfort and fatigue and as he climbed the groove he simply said “take!” My mind went into overload as his weight came onto me as I wrestled to keep it off the poor belay. In a losing battle I screamed for him to get back on as the belay was crap. A galvanised Paul registered my complete panic and was at the top of the groove and shuffling towards me in seconds. The two hexes had fallen from the belay and were hanging at my knees. We babbled about belays and the headtorch incident on Backdoor Route then, tension released, stood silent for some time before concocting an escape plan. I reckoned a rising left traverse looked easy and would take us to what I knew to be easy ground high on Grovel Wall, from there we could drop into Pinnacle Gully 1 and make our escape. The plan worked fine and get us to the edge somewhere near the top of the gully but we could not see an easy way into the gully. By now it was late and being pre mobile phones we knew our wives would soon begin worrying so a quick solution was needed. We abbed a surprisingly short distance into the gully. Safely in the gully my old orange rope refused to budge and without a second thought we abandoned it. It was for the bin anyway but I suspect we were ready to abandon even a new one. On our remaining rope I led up to the col and then onto a mercifully wind free plateau.

Paul’s leg was by now really stiff and he was clearly in difficulty so his walk back to the car was tortuous and painful. He took it stoically and I hope I carried his gear but my memory can’t recall. Our drive down deeside was filled with our epic and promises to pack in winter climbing for good! The story has 3 wee additions. The next morning my guilt at forcing Paul on when we should have abbed led to my calling him. Theresa answered telling me Paul was at the hospital. The outcome a full leg bandage/support affair due to knee ligament damage and 6 months of rehab! The next day I heard that another Aberdeen climber had been doing Pinnacle Gully one and had found and recovered a “brand new” rope. A quick phonecall assured him that he could keep his trophy and it’s best use might be for towing cars. And, finally, Paul was true to his word and hasn’t winter climbed again!