Beaten by the mountain, or beaten by me
06th February 2014
"Fair-seed time had my soul, and I grew up
Fostered alike by beauty and fear" - Wordsworth (The Prelude)
Approximatley 15 years ago I took a dear friend up onto Dow Crag, via the relativisticlly named Easy Gully.Perhaps it was better weather, certainly I was younger, fitter and more able than today.
Today was meant to be a repeat of fifteen years ago. We started off from Torver, a little Hamlet near Coniston. The day was grey and low cloud clung to the mountain tops. All the paths were wet and the streams overflowed from the recent rain and snow melt.
The route we took lead us up past old, abandoned quarries. These excavations merge into environment in a way that adds to the grandeur of the landscape. The quarries are filled with Birch Trees, the walls covered green in mosses, lichens, nest sites and the craggy edges of the quarry walls overflow with, cold, white waterfalls.
Higher we progressed, the darker the skies. The route eventually entered into the glacial bowl that contains Goats Tarn. The dark, still waters of the tarn is remnant of the ice age. On a day like today it is a mournful place, surrounded by steep rock buttresses that fall, fractured, into a broken terrain of boulders and loose scree. The tops of the mountains were hidden in a swirling mist with the colour of tarnished silver.
The next stage of our climb was up to the base of the buttresses. This required scrambling over the large, very slippery boulders and shifting screes. Each step upwards was torturous due to the ever shifting screes, but slowly we ascended into the mist.
Upon reaching the base of the climb there was an uneasy silence as we were no longer exposed to the wind. The silence was only broken by the clinking of the rocks under our feet, like some phantom Blacksmith at his anvil amongst the cloud.
I was already anxious. I had not been up this route for many years and I was not sure what condition it would be in. Adding to this uncertainty was that it was impossible to see up the climb due to the mist. All I could make out was a steep, near vertical gully (so it appeared in these conditions) full of loose stones and enclosed by green slime covered rock.
We set off, slowly but surely ascending, but slipping and sliding as we pulled ourselves over rock edges. Further up we encountered the snow that had survived the recent rain. The snow made the rest of the route a faltering climb as it was soft and covered holds, or worse, covered treachery.
I could feel myself getting more anxious and the main ridge, still seemed far ahead. Suddenly I slipped on the snow, I was OK, but had I slipped further I would have fallen a long way, down onto rocks. This incident instantly dissolved my remaining confidence - we had to go back down.
Looking down the gully (the view was down, through my legs) the descent looked just as daunting as continuing. However, looking at the snow packed gully above, I knew (for me at least) descent was the better of all the bad options.
The descent took a long time as care was required. Back climbing is always tough and the wet, slippery rock added to this difficulty. Eventually we were back at the tarn, feeling tired, knees aching but relieved.
With an effort to make something of the day we decided to head up the summit of the Old Man of Coniston. From the summit we looked over the steep amphitheatre that falls away from the summit, down to the village of Coniston. It looked safe and warm, and a long way off.
Today I learnt a bit more about myself, my limitations physically and mentally. Fifteen years ago I climbed this gully with little or no concern. I was confident in my physicality. Wordsworth's word seemed most poignant, particularly how the mountains can be both beautiful and fearful. There to reveal who you were and who you might be.
"Fair-seed time had my soul, and I grew up
Fostered alike by beauty and fear"
Wetherlam Summit View
Fostered alike by beauty and fear" - Wordsworth (The Prelude)
Approximatley 15 years ago I took a dear friend up onto Dow Crag, via the relativisticlly named Easy Gully.Perhaps it was better weather, certainly I was younger, fitter and more able than today.
Today was meant to be a repeat of fifteen years ago. We started off from Torver, a little Hamlet near Coniston. The day was grey and low cloud clung to the mountain tops. All the paths were wet and the streams overflowed from the recent rain and snow melt.
The route we took lead us up past old, abandoned quarries. These excavations merge into environment in a way that adds to the grandeur of the landscape. The quarries are filled with Birch Trees, the walls covered green in mosses, lichens, nest sites and the craggy edges of the quarry walls overflow with, cold, white waterfalls.
Higher we progressed, the darker the skies. The route eventually entered into the glacial bowl that contains Goats Tarn. The dark, still waters of the tarn is remnant of the ice age. On a day like today it is a mournful place, surrounded by steep rock buttresses that fall, fractured, into a broken terrain of boulders and loose scree. The tops of the mountains were hidden in a swirling mist with the colour of tarnished silver.
The next stage of our climb was up to the base of the buttresses. This required scrambling over the large, very slippery boulders and shifting screes. Each step upwards was torturous due to the ever shifting screes, but slowly we ascended into the mist.
Upon reaching the base of the climb there was an uneasy silence as we were no longer exposed to the wind. The silence was only broken by the clinking of the rocks under our feet, like some phantom Blacksmith at his anvil amongst the cloud.
I was already anxious. I had not been up this route for many years and I was not sure what condition it would be in. Adding to this uncertainty was that it was impossible to see up the climb due to the mist. All I could make out was a steep, near vertical gully (so it appeared in these conditions) full of loose stones and enclosed by green slime covered rock.
We set off, slowly but surely ascending, but slipping and sliding as we pulled ourselves over rock edges. Further up we encountered the snow that had survived the recent rain. The snow made the rest of the route a faltering climb as it was soft and covered holds, or worse, covered treachery.
I could feel myself getting more anxious and the main ridge, still seemed far ahead. Suddenly I slipped on the snow, I was OK, but had I slipped further I would have fallen a long way, down onto rocks. This incident instantly dissolved my remaining confidence - we had to go back down.
Looking down the gully (the view was down, through my legs) the descent looked just as daunting as continuing. However, looking at the snow packed gully above, I knew (for me at least) descent was the better of all the bad options.
The descent took a long time as care was required. Back climbing is always tough and the wet, slippery rock added to this difficulty. Eventually we were back at the tarn, feeling tired, knees aching but relieved.
With an effort to make something of the day we decided to head up the summit of the Old Man of Coniston. From the summit we looked over the steep amphitheatre that falls away from the summit, down to the village of Coniston. It looked safe and warm, and a long way off.
Today I learnt a bit more about myself, my limitations physically and mentally. Fifteen years ago I climbed this gully with little or no concern. I was confident in my physicality. Wordsworth's word seemed most poignant, particularly how the mountains can be both beautiful and fearful. There to reveal who you were and who you might be.
"Fair-seed time had my soul, and I grew up
Fostered alike by beauty and fear"
Wetherlam Summit View