Up until the late 90s the North-West Highlands in winter still remained an area I hadn’t visited. All the Fowler/Moran/Nisbet et al stories of exploring corries with huge untapped potential where you could climb all week and not meet a soul hinted at something very special. I had walked a fair few of the more popular hills up there and had rock-climbed in summer occasionally so was already addicted to the outstanding beauty of the area. The problem in winter however was it all seemed so far away: the distances involved; a reputation for unreliable conditions, and above all, the lack of good information – the mysteriousness of the area as it were, always made Arrochar, the Coe, Ben and the Gorms seem the wiser choice. And so until I moved up to Aviemore 10 years ago, thumping my chacals into thick north-west turf or ice remained but a pipe-dream.

The first winter in Aviemore wasn’t very successful - I’d moved up with Robin McAllister who had sold his farm in Ballantrae to try his luck in the Aviemore B&B trade. We had the perfect central base to explore a huge area and were overwhelmed by the possibilities available but the conditions that winter were poor and we managed little. Our luck changed at the beginning of the following winter however when we decided to pay a visit to Andy Nisbet’s house for a chinwag and pick his brains about various venues. I’d been doing a fair bit of research and started firing lots of north-west related questions at him:: Why hadn’t Hamilton’s Route on Ben Eighe’s Central Buttress had a winter ascent? Why hadn’t those obvious lines in the Cold Climbs book of Sgurr nan clach Geala been climbed? What did he think about a winter ascent of Thin Man’s Ridge?? What about An Teallach, there must be loads to do there?!

All those questions seemed to shock him a bit, so much so that he suggested we should go climbing with him that winter. He wasn’t going to be working much and extra climbing partners would be very welcome. This was a great coup for me - I’d packed in my job, had money in the bank to last the whole winter and was very keen, as keen as I’d ever be. Robin wasn’t always able to get every day he wanted off, and Andy was widely acknowledged as knowing the North-West corries better than anyone, what a result!

And so, as it turned out, the winter of 98/99 was superb, starting very early and developing quickly into an excellent ice-forming season. By Christmas time we had already bagged a fair few of my earlier new-route suggestions (being a canny new-router, Andy tended to prefer routes he knew i knew about!) and were beginning to exhaust my supply quickly.

One of the many intriguing winter walls that had stirred my imagination was the Eag Dubh Wall on the beautiful Beinn Alligin, that very conspicuous gash across the steep face of the summit peak when viewed from Loch Torridon. I had seen a few grainy pics in the magazines and in Martin Moran’s book, hinting at the adventures you could expect on this misty, shadowy and forbiddingly steep cliff, perpetually dripping in summer and plastered with thick moss . Martin had even written a small section in his book about the only line at that time on the wall, the very steep Wall of the Outcry, climbed by himself and Andy - a strong team - and this had required a point of aid. He also hinted at the potential remaining, mentioning a sensational corner line but it all sounded very futuristic ground so didn’t seem very likely to me.

Over the New Year break, Mark Garthwaite called in to see us and mentioned he’d been hill walking on Beinn Alligin and had seen the wall. He was obviously impressed by what he’d seen so the next time I saw Andy I asked him about the route he’d climbed there and mentioned that Garth had been exploring around that area. This he was very interested in, and he admitted that by a strange coincidence himself and Brian Davison had failed on the big corner/fault line mentioned in Martin’s book only a few days previously. I was soon hearing all about the logistical problems of climbing there; the wall although high at about 900m faced south-west, was very close to the sea and quickly became a victim of the slightest thaw approaching from the west. Very good conditions were therefore required, with plenty of groundwater available to saturate the moss then cold weather to freeze it and it couldn’t be sunny, cold weather either, that was no good as it would strip the cliff too! Finally, the main problem with the line they’d failed on was it needed ice on a steep bare rock section, there had been some there on the day but it was poor quality and too thin.

It all seemed a bit of a tall order to me, plus it was obviously too hard anyway. Andy had other ideas though, the threat of competition from a talented weedgie such as Garth was more than his aberdonian competitive spirit could bear and he’d seen the forecast for the week ahead – continuing cold, snowy and stormy – it was likely to be in better nick in a few days time. Would I be keen in joining him?

A few days later saw us driving down Glen Torridon very early in the morning, donning the plastic boots and heavy sacks and starting the long approach under head torch light up to the Eag Dubh. To say i was concerned about my first big hard route in the north-west would be understating things, we’d decided i would lead the first two pitches up to where they had failed previously and I'd no idea what i was letting myself in for. Still, the dawn was revealing a beautiful view all around, and after two hours we had gained the base of the long gully with the Eag Dubh wall above it, streaked with ice and disappearing into the clouds near the top of the gully. It was up there somewhere in the mist where the big corner lurked, on the highest and steepest section of wall.

Crampons on, we started the long approach up the gully. Far below us was the shore of Loch Torridon and beyond the fine peaks of Ben Damph, Sgorr Ruadh and Fuar Tholl, each promising many future adventures. As we gained height the forecast for a stormy day seemed unfortunately to be correct, the wind was rising and whipping the clouds through, occasionally revealing the full height of the wall above us. It was awesome, thickly rimed and with some huge icicles dangling in space above our heads.

Eventually we arrived under the line and we geared up as quickly as we could, the wind was bitter so all the spare clothes were put on. Andy pointed up through the driving spindrift at the wall towering above us, shouting out through the wind din where we would go. The wall was so white with rime it was hard to tell if the crucial shield of ice had formed or not, but he reckoned it looked a bit more promising this time.

I started up the groove above, glad to be moving but very apprehensive about what was ahead. Thankfully the turf was perfect, as the all too obvious exposure made itself apparent immediately when I left the gully. Above the groove some steep blocky terrain had to be tackled but there were great torques, the gear reasonable, and I soon settled into the pitch, so much so that I passed the first belay without realising it. Shouting down to Andy wasn’t easy, but I gathered that a further 10 m above me was the next belay, which I might just reach on rope stretch. It didn’t look easy though, I was in the corner fault proper now, and a slightly overhanging wall had to be tackled just to its right. This was mainly climbed on big blobs of mossy turf, the kind which you don’t totally trust your picks in. A few reachy moves led to a good bit of turf, below a much longer reach to the next bit. I had to get some gear in, i was on steep ground 15 feet above my last gear and the exposure was getting a bit sensational. All that was available was the turf though, so I got a bulldog hook out and tried to get it in. Easier said than done though when hanging off on one arm in this situation, and I let out a cry of despair when the bugger bounced back out of the turf to land without touching anything in the gully 50m below. Wild! i had to just go for it, and a big lock-off was necessary for the long reach into the turf above. Was it good enough? I started pulling more weight onto it, still not sure if it was solid, pulling, pulling more until I had to commit and kick the feet up onto the turf where my first axe was. Sweating and scared, i pulled again some more, slowly straightening the legs and thumped the other axe into a really good bit. I started calming down. A few more moves and I was on a perfect small ledge with great cracks for a bomber belay.

Now, during all this commotion on the pitch below, I hadn’t realised just how bad the weather was getting. Tying myself in, and having a real job getting my ciggy lit, I could really appreciate the wildness of the day. Heavy showers of graupel were roaring in, with huge waves of big “polystyrene” like balls cascading furiously down the frosty wall. When Andy joined me, he was very cold and expressing some doubt about the sense of trying the next pitch, but decided he’d give it a bash anyway. Racking the gear up, he started traversing out onto the wall on the right where there was a thin crack you could hook up, leading to what we hoped was thick ice. You could see the wind trying to blow him off the wall and a couple of times he had to just cling there, waiting for the wind to calm a wee bit. At least he was getting in good gear though, and slowly he made progress up the crack to a bit of turf above. At this point he started having problems, the ice was thicker above than the time before but still not great quality and he started pondering what to do. At one point a three inch long kingpin was produced, and he started hammering it into the turf. “I’m going to try and aid off this!” he shouted over to me. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?!” I shouted back (sure that it wasn’t). “No, I’m not sure!”. “Well don’t!” I shouted.

So he didn’t, but before either of us really knew what was happening, Andy had switched into auto-pilot and committed to the icy shield above. It was impressive to watch, nothing much for the feet, and getting increasingly bold as he traversed back left into the corner line above my head. No gear there, so he kept on upwards, and up again but still wasn’t finding any gear. The whole situation was getting a bit serious, and the weather was wild as ever. I was feeling a bit delirious at this time and very concerned, and started kind of praying, “God, please don’t make the Goat fall off, please don’t make the Goat fall off (!)” (the Goat of Barten is one of Andy’s nicknames, as he has a big trademark red climber’s beard and lives in Boat of Garten).

Tense moments followed up until Andy gained a wee ledge on the left arête of the corner. Eventually some gear was found, and he was back into the corner, climbing up until a very steep and totally blank wall was reached. “I’ll have to start traversing out right” he shouted down. Oh dear, i thought, that doesn’t sound good. From where I could see, it looked mental where he was planning to go, but the rope started moving a lot quicker, and it continued moving until after a while he shouted he was safe.

As I set off rightwards from the belay, the wind was still pushing me about and the spindrift painful, but at least I was becoming more accustomed to the exposure. The moves up the thin crack were sweet, but I found gaining the ledge above and moving back left into the corner hard and intimidating, the ice was that soft, very cruddy stuff. The corner above was amazing though, very steep but with these beautiful regularly spaced horizontal rails of turf which just sucked your picks in to the point where you felt totally calm, and could just hang about savouring the view down into the void below. And when I reached the big traverse out right, an amazing thing happened; the storm suddenly abated and the clouds thinned out. Dusk was falling, but as the views all around started emerging out of the mist, everything around us was bathed in this other-worldly beautiful vivid blue light. I set out across the traverse, linking up narrow ledges of gorgeous turf in an amazing position, poised above the long gully which plunged way down below. It was probably the most exposed situation I’ve ever been in on a winter route, but everything was so perfect, such a great reward and release from all the worrying down below. I guess you had to be there, not very easy to describe. Sure many of you will have experienced moments in the hills like it though.

So that was that. Easier ground was soon reached and the line was in the bag. We called the route Wailing Wall, there’s a legend apparently about some local guy who fell off the top of the wall, and they said you could hear his screams for years after if you ventured near the gully. Certainly quite an eerie place. You can get a good view of the wall from the ridge if you go out on to the wee top marked Sgurr na Tuaigh and peer over into the gully.

(10/06)