CIC Trip 2010 - A Ben Nevis Adventure

The excitement was building as we drove north. The big freeze had been followed by a few thaw-freeze cycles and we were anticipating good conditions on the Ben for our annual winter pilgrimage to the CIC Hut. It was a Thursday evening and we were intending to walk up to the hut in the dark. The torrential rain from Glasgow onwards persuaded us otherwise. “Why don’t we stop at the Fell & Rock hut in Aviemore, and drive over to the Ben in the morning?” The thought of last orders and a cosy bed appealed more than a thorough drenching. We headed north up the A9. “I wonder if it’s snowing higher up?” someone ventured. It was. As we reached the start of the Drumochter Pass flashing blue lights and a queue of traffic alerted us to the closure of the pass. The traffic cop directing traffic shrugged, “It’ll be shut all night”.
“What now?” John remembered another hut in Kinlochleven so, taking a meandering route via Killin, we headed for Glencoe. The snow was starting to stick on the road but that was soon the least of our worries. Driving through Tyndrum the petrol warning light came on. It was after 11.00pm and the petrol station was closed. As a result of our detour north we only had 30 miles of fuel left in the tank ... and it was 40 miles to Kinlochleven. “Should we go for it?” The consensus was that we coast down the hill into Glencoe and cross our fingers. I’ve never driven so slowly across Rannoch Moor and it was a relief to breast the pass and point the car down the other side. We reached Kinlochleven on petrol fumes. Morning dawned. “Where’s the petrol station in the village?” I enquired of a passing local. “There isn’t one”, he replied. Fortunately there were still just enough fumes to get us back to the petrol station in Glencoe Village.
Nestled under the north face of Ben Nevis, two hours walk from the nearest road, the CIC is arguably the only true alpine style hut in the UK. It was extended in 2009 and now boasts a proper kitchen and toilets. Luxury! Friday afternoon was spent playing on the steep ice of the Cascades below the hut. We debated Saturday’s outing. John, myself, Dave and Andy decided on Castle Ridge. Conditions should be good, ideal for Andy’s first big mountaineering route and, with a book time of about three hours, should give us chance to tackle some more ice in the afternoon. An early morning start saw us heading for the base of the ridge where a fat ice gully tempted us to start much lower down than the normal route. The lovely ice pitch gave way to verglassed slabs and we decided to pitch the lower ridge. Leapfrogging John on a 60m rope, with Dave and Andrew climbing behind, we made good progress in the lean conditions until steeper ground barred our way. A delicate traverse took us to better climbing.I reached John at his belay. “Looks ok higher up”, he assured me, “looks like it goes, off to the right”. I peered up. “You just need to climb this groove first”. “Hmmmm”, it looked pretty lean with a couple of patches of turf in an otherwise steep and ice free cleft. I teetered up, axes somehow biting spartan turf and thin cracks. There was no sign of anywhere to place protection, and I was too pumped to stop anyway. “I hope your belay’s good?” I delicately pulled myself up onto easier ground. Heart beat dropping I moved up to where I hoped to find an obvious route through the vertiginous rock above me. I climbed up to get a better view of the gully veering off to the right. It was a dead end, capped by an overhang and terminated by a precipitous drop. “We’re not going this way”, I shouted to John, “I’m going to have to ab back down”. I was worried we’d have to retrace our steps all the way down the ridge but, after another traverse, we recognised the ground; we were finally on the ordinary route, but it still lacked the good neve we’d expected. Easy ground interspersed steep rock steps until we reached the crux. With vague memories of a bold vertical crack on the edge of an abyss I was glad it was John’s turn to lead. After weighing it up he shimmied upwards, axes torqued in iceless crevices, and heaved himself onto a ledge. We all followed him, relieved to have got past this intimidating pitch. “Must be nearly there now?” someone chirped. Unfortunately not. Rounding the next easy pitch the ridge reared up before me across a narrow rock arête. Further steep ground disappeared into the clag above us. And it was going dark. In a partial whiteout and the gloom of dusk, we continued upwards, eventually reaching the small cairn that marks the top of the route, eight hours after starting the climb. Approaching darkness precluded our planned descent by No4 Gully and we opted for the safer way off down to the path from Red Burn and the trek into the Allt a Muillin. Andy had coped brilliantly with his first winter route but was now hampered by a failed headtorch and one crampon which refused to adhere to his boot. Together with Dave badly tearing his calf on the walk out it made for along slog back to the hut. We arrived after 12 hours on the hill to jeers from the other four members of the Ratti crew (Neil. Jim, Dave and Alex) who between them had easily knocked off three climbs including NE Buttress and Italian Climb although Neil had managed to stick the adze of his axe in his forehead on a very lean Mantrap! We’d certainly had a day to remember with plenty of incident and which had turned into an unforeseen epic but, that’s the Ben for you – always a great adventure.