Feature

WATERPIPE GULLY

by Judith Brown

A Climb Through History © MCofS

“I was in the chasm with loose rock above, below and to each side. The moss and other subterranean flora were the trustworthy bits. In the absence of any solid external object my climber's reflex to grip tight in a crisis turned inward – my knuckles were white, my teeth gritted and my buttocks clenched. I began calling down the vilest of imprecations against my dogged leader who had signed us up for this escapade”

"Its a Millennium thing" he'd said; "One route for each year of Scottish mountaineering"

"Oh, and when did that start exactly?"

Dogged Leader was vague on both facts and purpose. However by the time he'd seen the list of available routes, virtually the only one left below the grade of E6, was this one, a modest Mild VS, 4b. Presumably Scottish mountaineers know about Waterpipe Gully!

There's no doubt that its a fantastic line. It’s a continuous deep cleft running from top to toe of Sgurr an Fheadain dominating the view up Coire na Creiche. However, the words about it being the finest climb "of its type" should have acted as a warning.

We left Sligachan on a glorious morning, Dogged Leader poling away with enthusiasm, me wondering why we hadn't driven around to Glen Brittle. However it was a great walk and only took two hours. Gulp! We geared up in a narrow margin of sunlight, enjoying its soon-to-be-abandoned warmth.

I peered in. It looked as if we might be in for a soaking. "Remind me, who were the first loonies to climb this"?

"Harland and Wolf came the deadpan reply. (I checked later, it was Kelsall and Hallit, which still sounds like a ship-building company.)

Dogged Leader set off. I heard him mutter something about the Mines of Moria, before he was swallowed by the gully. I followed him in and was pleasantly surprised that it was not (yet) as dark, wet or claustrophobic as ¾d feared. Shafts of sunlight danced playfully within it, making the moss-encrusted waterfall glow a bright emerald. We decided that this was the first of many obstacles that we would turn on the right wall "at about Severe". Steep, runner less climbing led upwards then sideways, a pattern that was to be repeated many times during that long day. The guidebook kindly advised that the next slimy watercourse would "go" at 4c. We begged to differ and once again headed up along the right wall amused by the book's description of a "tired" tree. It was, indeed, knackered, worn out in its fruitless, etiolated stretch to sunlight. D.L. put a sling around it, thanking heaven for small mercies.

Hours passed and I lost all track of pitches climbed and just how many times we turned vertical wet walls or dodgy-looking not-quite-jammed boulders, increasingly aware that the term "Severe" really meant just that and did not imply a grade of climbing just above from V.Diff. Twice we came out of the gully and into the welcoming sunshine and glorious views of the Outer Hebrides to the west and the Ridge above us. Each time we struggled back into its depths, D.L muttering something about sponsorship so, ashen faced and tight-lipped, I followed. It got worse.

Dragging the rope over rubble-strewn slabs in a state of advanced grip, I searched desperately for a belay. To my unutterable relief I spotted a rotting nylon sling threaded behind a boulder. Gratefully I tied into it.

We had reached what the guidebook enigmatically referred to as "the Grand Finale"! The route led inescapably up the wettest, loosest, mossiest and most frightening pitch either of us had ever seen. An old sling could be discerned halfway up and D.L. began precariously swimming towards it. It turned out to be a useless piece of tat in a ghastly little loose crack but retreat being impossible, D.L. teetered across the moss overhang with holds falling fast around him. His announcement that it "was better than it looks" was bullshit of the highest order. However, eventually the dread invitation to climb was heard over the roar of the waterfall and the crash of falling rock.

When the fírst foothold collapsed under me, I shrieked. D.L's voice floated down. "Oh that hold's gone has it? Thought it might." I got to the piece of gear. I breathed on it and it fell out. There was no way a previous second could have failed to extract it, which meant that some desperate soul had actually retreated off it. I blanched at the thought. It was surely preferable to go on and die in the attempt. We very nearly did! This utterly serious pitch finished us off mentally, our bodies having "passed on" some hours before.

At last we were in the final reaches of the gully. The guidebook promised easy chockstones. The first failed to succumb to brute force, combined tactics or me throwing an hysterical wobbler at it. D.L. finally overcame it by using a rucksack for direct aid (don't ask)! His foul expletives were muffled by the fact that he was face first in inches of loose rubble. He hauled me up, sternly instructing me not to touch any of the holds.

We belayed under a huge capstone, precariously lodged across the gully. D.L. swung up. "Below!" A rock the size of a football crashed down, shattering next to me. There was a smell of cordite. "Shit" I thought "the ropes must have copped it'.

By a miracle they survived, and so did we. By a further miracle, we found ourselves at the top of the gully and collapsed on a bit of grass near the summit of Sgurr an Fheadain. It was 6.30pm. We had been in there for seven whole bloody hours. The long walk back began.

In retrospect most epics become fun. Your oaths of 'never again" become eroded by the siren call of new, even dafter adventures. But Waterpipe Gully will always leave me with a deeply felt relief at having survived it, a sincere respect for Kelsall and Hallit, an ingrained mistrust of guidebooks, and a determination to forever avoid "Grand Finales". Also that all obstacles in life can be turned on the right-hand wall "at about Severe".

An epic route indeed but I thought Dogged Leader's request for me to sponsor him the ultimate insult to injury!

Route: Waterpipe Gully, Sgurr An Fheadain, Isle of Skye

Grade: VS

First Ascent: Kelsall and Hallit 1895

Millennium Climbers: Judith Brown (Intrepid Second) and Dog Holden (Dogged Leader), 27 May 2004.