Gardyloo Gully

An account of an ascent of Gardyloo Gully (II/III) on Ben Nevis by Colm Ennis and John Kinsella on the 10^th of April 2001.

At 8.00am, ours were the first boots in the disinfectant buckets at Achintee's yard at the start of the Ben Nevis footpath. John, with a slight leak in his boot, just about endured the recommended thirty second disinfection time and then we were off up the path. As usual we were overtaken by a seemingly fitter pair of trekking pole wielding climbers and then a grizzly character in wellies, who was at least a decade away from discovering the benefits of Dryflo. Before we turned the corner into Lochan Meall an t-Suidhe, we overtook them both again and were soon on our way along Allt a'Mhuilinn to the CIC hut. The night before we had debated tackling one of the easier long ridge routes but as we passed beneath Castle Ridge and Ledge Route, we felt it was too late in the season for them. Encouraged by our successes on the likes of Pinnacle Buttress Groove in Coire nan Lochan earlier in the week, we decided in the end to tackle the similarly graded Gardyloo Gully. We were encouraged in this by another climber in the hostel who seemed to know what he was talking about: "do something high up, like Gardyloo or Good Friday Climb but you're probably looking for something harder". Indeed we were not, Gardyloo it was then.

There was an assortment of parties heading out from the CIC hut and we followed one heading in the direction of the North East Buttress which looked absolutely perfect. At the base of Tower Ridge, we put on our crampons and harnesses and a pair coming up behind us thought that we were preparing to climb. Needless to say we were more than happy to give them our place, as at our pace we would have been doing well to finish that particular route in under three days. As we entered Observatory Gully, we stopped for a minute to talk to two climbers who were heading in the direction of Observatory buttress. "It's been raining all night" said one chap who reminded me instantly of a climber on Orion Face Direct in a photo in one of the guidebooks. At the same time he gave the snow a suspicious look and asked us where we were going. We told him, he gave the snow another wary inspection and said cheerily "well, I hope you have a good day!". It was probably his way of saying, "are you mad?, in these conditions!", but we continued on up nonetheless. The weather wasn't bad and a clearing in the mist gave us a view of our objective and overrode my compass bearing which had been leading us into Tower Gully. We roped up for the last section of Observatory Gully and arrived at the base of Gardyloo Buttress for the start of the climb.

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It was midday when we were encouraged on by the snow conditions on the first pitch and by keeping to the right hand side we managed to get some good rock protection. We hadn't however forgotten Alan Kimber's guidebook warning of parties entering Gardyloo Gully with all manner of friends and other devices when the nearest rock was buried under three metres of snow. Close to hand, we had our deadman and some icescrews borrowed from the climbing rack of an unsuspecting Institute of Technology mountaineering club. Whatever gear we had, we seemed to be moving well and we managed to communicate climbing instructions around the corner without resorting to screaming or paper planes. On the second pitch, I ran out of rope looking for a suitable place to belay, forcing us into some improvised and unapproved technique which allowed me to bring John up to my midway protection. I continued on up the gully but things were now taking much longer. There was less and less good ice and more and more soft snow. The rock high up on the right hand side seemed to offer good protection but each time I made the steep ascent up to it , it proved disappointing. Eventually, I placed a passable friend and a small rock, found a less passable stance and belayed a somewhat cold John up in my direction. As half of me warmed up, I glanced upwards along the impressively steep sides of the gully towards the brightness in the mist which seemed to mark the top of the climb.

As John approached my stance, he eyed above me what the guidebook describes as 'a great chockstone' which almost blocks the gully. There was a chimney like ice pitch to the right hand side to allow passage and John was in the humour for leading on. He agreed to belay me up as soon as he found something half decent and he wasn't going to have much choice as I still had most of the gear around my waist. It was only when I followed him up later that I realised how poor the snow beneath the chockstone was and how difficult the conditions on the ice pitch were. John did however manage to place one of his borrowed ice screws, from which he admitted that he wouldn't be hanging his granny any time soon. Meanwhile I anxiously observed the time on my watch racing forward while the altimeter remained stuck a good few metres shy of 1340, the height of the summit plateau. Of course the altimeter was set incorrectly or the pressure had changed but I didn't know that then. My enquiries of "Well, John have you got anything?" were responded to with silence or the occasional but very resolute "No" and eventually a "Yes" which caused me great relief. I imagined John placing an excellent hex and perhaps out of sight he had found a good spot for the deadman as well.

Above: Colm Ennis on Pinnacle Buttress Groove in Coire nan Lochan.

As I fumbled my way up through powder snow and flailed around on the ice pitch, I appreciated that this was the hardest pitch so far and that my anchors below had probably not been as hot as they should have been. As I approached John, my eyes searched around for the excellent gear. The sling around the natural ice pillar was excellent, as was John's stance on a snow ledge below it but my head chose that time to resurrect a partially memorised paragraph from a climbing handbook about ice shattering under such and such level of outward pressure. But that was all there was and despite an extensive search, nothing else could be found. Now we were beneath the somewhat monumental cornice.

Above: Approaching the snow ledge beneath the cornice on Gardyloo Gully.

I had seen lots of cornices before but never from that angle. Usually we were walking along cautiously above them and our experience in easier gullies hadn't prepared us for the conditions or the atmosphere just beneath the top of Gardyloo Gully. I was concerned. John of course had no watch and when I asked him to guess the time, he took a chance on one o clock. By then it was six and I envied that he had been able to go through the whole climb without having to continuously watch the clock. At twenty past two, I had said to myself: "twenty past three, twenty past four, twenty past five; ah sure loads of time". It had disappeared but at that point we refused to consider anything other than getting out of the gully and onto the top. John wasn't optimistic that getting over the cornice was going to be a quick affair and I agreed, but I could see what seemed to be a slope leading up to the right hand side of the formation. In fact, I imagined it as a path and was determined to give it a go. The snow was worse here than at any point in the gully but I managed to reach a ledge right below the cornice and allowed myself to be amazed at how overhanging it was. Under the tenuous icicles and packed snow there was also a natural crawlspace which led to what I hoped was the one climbable spot for our grand exit from the gully. "What do you think?" shouted John, "Ah yeah, it looks okay", I lied. At the same time a sling from a karabiner around my waist, had partially unravelled and as I crawled, it had snared a crampon point. It was amusing to be immobile in that particular position and when I freed myself, I hurried on to my salvation corner of poor ice which had a neighbouring narrow ridge of snow to the right.

Above: John Kinsella with Bidean nam Bian in the background.

It was surely no more than three metres high, but the ice wasn't ice and the ridge on which I was going to launch myself up was destined to fall away piece by piece, but up I went. There was nothing for the ice axes to get excited about higher up and my crampons were equally unimpressed about where I was asking them to hang below. I slipped and caught myself more than once and thought about what smart comment I would make to John as I passed him on my speedy way back down the gully. I then got the idea to layback against my ridge of pitiable snow while I hacked out a space for myself to pull through the cornice. Once, I pulled myself up high enough so that I could rotate my head and see across to the trig point and the emergency shelter. I remembered that a year earlier I had been mightily impressed by a much older climber as he popped up out of 0.5 gully and brought his wife up behind him. There was nobody on top that evening to be unimpressed with my predicament and now also, a wind was picking on me, covering my face in snow and ice and making me certain that I was going to spend the night on the ledge beneath tied to an ice pillar. I faced the cornice again, this time with a sample of a ridiculous dance tune playing in my head and I once again slipped and just caught myself as the ridge of snow I was depending on fell away. I had decided numerous times to just go for it and had actually gone for it the same number of frustrating times to no avail. But suddenly in one simultaneous reach, push, jump, crouch and roll, I was over and I was never so surprised in my life.

Above: At the top of Pinnacle Buttress Groove in Coire nan Lochan.

When I had my final anchor set up, John could neither see nor hear me but I knew that he would get the message as I pulled up the rope. When nothing happened for what seemed to me like ten minutes after my last tug, I realised that I had been over an hour on the final pitch and felt a slight panic that despite the last obstacle having been surmounted, something had now befallen my climbing partner below. Finally, I felt John moving up. As he approached the edge of the cornice, the wind which had covered me with snow, gave him a similarly wintry appearance and as he made the last move onto the summit plateau, I agreed with him that this was indeed the hardest route I had ever climbed. At 7.20pm the summit of Ben Nevis was completely deserted, the only time I had ever seen it so. The clear view was equally rare and perfect and while the highland sunset was incredible, it was time to get off the mountain.

"Ye, had a bit of an epic", the hostel owner's son suggested. I agreed and felt a bit on the 'steeped' side. Mind you, not lucky enough to make the chipper in Fortwilliam before it closed, or lucky enough to avoid locking the keys of my car into the boot the next morning; but in time that night to get in at least one bottle of ale in the bar under Nevisport and fortunate nonetheless.

Above: The North East Buttress of Ben Nevis as seen from the Carn Mor Dearg Arete.

Written by Colm Ennis. Photos by Colm Ennis and John Kinsella.
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