James and a fat man climb The Bells
The alarm failed of course and James kicked me out of bed at 6, we hit the coffee with a vengeance after a troubled nights sleep. Unfortunately to quench my thirst for caffeine I drank all the milk with my coffee, this left us gagging on our porridge sans cow juice. Out of the hut at 6:45 and at the base of the gully around an hour later. We soloed a long way up the gully to the cave which marks the start of the first pitch.
James wisely pulled on his gloves and third layer, the sun was a long way off … frickin’ freezing Mr Bigglesworth. It was as I remembered it, pretty daunting and exposed. We fixed a rock anchor in the cave and I placed a screw before stepping out onto the ice wall with, what felt like, a scary drop underneath. A further screw went in and then another, the ice was positive better than I expected the pitch went fairly easily considering the tub of lard climbing it. I dug a bucket seat, slung a rock, anchored off and belayed James up. I lost feeling in my arse well before he reached me and resorted to various bucket seat finger exercises as in my haste to start belaying I’d left my gloves off … I regretted this later when feeling came back to them on the next pitch and they burned like hell.
James grabbed a snow stake off me and with instructions to check out the left hand exit and if “there are only dodgy free hanging icicles” give it the miss and set up a belay on the right exit. The ice wall here looked steeper for longer but the ice appeared to be in better condition. He charged up and across the traverse hammering in a snow stake half way and then setting up a good’ole snow stake bucket seat combo to belay me up from. He’d chosen the right hand exit. One probably could have tried the left, but as we’d been out of action for a while and preferred not to see whether the icicles would snap under our weight which was of course considerable (James interjects speak for yourself).
I reached James under the wall, it was steep. We swapped screws and wires I made my peace with the earth goddess and kicked up the start of the wall. The ice was dinner plating and James was confettied by some largish chunks, the belay position could have been better. The first screw went in easily my carves felt tired. After three attempts (the first two had me swearing when the screw hit rock under the ice) I got in a second one. My carves were burning now and my foot work was getting sloppy. The wall kicked into 90 degrees for about 5 meters above me, my plan was to get through this patch as fast as possible and place another screw at the top (the ice was solid but too thin to place screws here anyway and I don’t own an ice piton and screamer sling). It was going quite well (climbing 90 degree ice feels like you’re on an overhang) until my sloppy feet came out from under me and I cut loose for a second before getting them back into the ice. I think I may have heard a sharp intake of breath from James. I motored the rest of the steep stuff and took a long rest on the 70 degree slope above. Up another 20 meters and sunk two solid ice screws equalized them and dug the bucket seat which would make any westie jealous to belay James up with.
James wondered up putting out my fears he may take a wiper, he was really enjoying himself I must admit apart from the footless episode all had been textbook so far, solid anchors and good heads had prevailed. We had a drink, some food and slip slop slapped as the sun was on us now and took it all in before James bashed up the final pitch. I talked him through tying off a dodgy ice screw as the ice although less steep was thinner now and he confidently ran it out to the top onto the comfy snow slope above. We were stuffed, big smiles as we ate our victory toffee pops on top.
James wisely pulled on his gloves and third layer, the sun was a long way off … frickin’ freezing Mr Bigglesworth. It was as I remembered it, pretty daunting and exposed. We fixed a rock anchor in the cave and I placed a screw before stepping out onto the ice wall with, what felt like, a scary drop underneath. A further screw went in and then another, the ice was positive better than I expected the pitch went fairly easily considering the tub of lard climbing it. I dug a bucket seat, slung a rock, anchored off and belayed James up. I lost feeling in my arse well before he reached me and resorted to various bucket seat finger exercises as in my haste to start belaying I’d left my gloves off … I regretted this later when feeling came back to them on the next pitch and they burned like hell.
James grabbed a snow stake off me and with instructions to check out the left hand exit and if “there are only dodgy free hanging icicles” give it the miss and set up a belay on the right exit. The ice wall here looked steeper for longer but the ice appeared to be in better condition. He charged up and across the traverse hammering in a snow stake half way and then setting up a good’ole snow stake bucket seat combo to belay me up from. He’d chosen the right hand exit. One probably could have tried the left, but as we’d been out of action for a while and preferred not to see whether the icicles would snap under our weight which was of course considerable (James interjects speak for yourself).
I reached James under the wall, it was steep. We swapped screws and wires I made my peace with the earth goddess and kicked up the start of the wall. The ice was dinner plating and James was confettied by some largish chunks, the belay position could have been better. The first screw went in easily my carves felt tired. After three attempts (the first two had me swearing when the screw hit rock under the ice) I got in a second one. My carves were burning now and my foot work was getting sloppy. The wall kicked into 90 degrees for about 5 meters above me, my plan was to get through this patch as fast as possible and place another screw at the top (the ice was solid but too thin to place screws here anyway and I don’t own an ice piton and screamer sling). It was going quite well (climbing 90 degree ice feels like you’re on an overhang) until my sloppy feet came out from under me and I cut loose for a second before getting them back into the ice. I think I may have heard a sharp intake of breath from James. I motored the rest of the steep stuff and took a long rest on the 70 degree slope above. Up another 20 meters and sunk two solid ice screws equalized them and dug the bucket seat which would make any westie jealous to belay James up with.
James wondered up putting out my fears he may take a wiper, he was really enjoying himself I must admit apart from the footless episode all had been textbook so far, solid anchors and good heads had prevailed. We had a drink, some food and slip slop slapped as the sun was on us now and took it all in before James bashed up the final pitch. I talked him through tying off a dodgy ice screw as the ice although less steep was thinner now and he confidently ran it out to the top onto the comfy snow slope above. We were stuffed, big smiles as we ate our victory toffee pops on top.