_THE RAKE’S PROGRESS AND CERTAIN SHORT CLIMBS NEAR IT_
THE RAKE’S PROGRESS.--This happy title dates from about 1881.
The Progress is an easy ledge leading from the lower end of the Lord’s
Rake to the point where the Mickledore ridge joins the main mass
of Scawfell. It runs along the base of the vertical walls of this
mountain, and though at a great elevation above the huge Mickledore
hollow, is scarcely entitled to the thrilling adjective _vertigineuse_
of the French climbing vocabulary. Yet it is capable of carrying one
into the finest situations; and even the hardened expert, with his
steady head and well-trained muscles, realises while on it that danger
is hovering about him at every step, though it does not touch him.
Years ago I read, in Freshfield’s ‘Italian Alps,’ of the Pelmo traverse
in the Ampezzo Dolomites, and memory seized on the Rake’s Progress as
the nearest approach to it that mountain experience had then afforded.
Let there be no rise on the Mickledore; make the Progress thrice as
long, and a little more rakish; change the rock from porphyry to
magnesian limestone; let the drop below the ledge be a few hundred feet
instead of a few score; make it necessary to crawl on all fours in one
or two corners, and the resemblance will be perfect! In a few yards
after the preliminary scramble on to the ledge, the crags are broken on
our right by the short chimney entrances to Steep Ghyll and Moss Ghyll.
These cannot be mistaken, inasmuch as they mark the last possible
points of attack on these cliffs for one-half of the traverse.
Passing the entrance to Moss Ghyll, to which we must return for the
ascent of this fine gully, a steep rise marks the accomplishment of
one-third of the course. A little further a thin cleft cuts obliquely
up the cliff towards the left. It is wonderfully straight, and the
slabs of rock on either side are hopelessly smooth. The crack widens
higher up, but until 1897 the terrific simplicity of its lower portion
had warned off all who examined it with the view of storming this side
of Scawfell. The upper half, reached by an ingenious zig-zag route on
the face, is now well known as one of the safest and best climbs on
Scawfell. Shortly afterwards we reach a rectangular recess looking as
though it had been quarried for a gigantic monolith. Here again the
great difficulty of starting up is manifested at a glance, though in
the same direction up above the recess is so much more deeply cut and
the sides so much nearer to each other that one’s safety is assured for
the second half of the climb. In this case also, the middle is reached
by a slight detour on the left. A few yards further along the Progress
are two thin cracks uniting at a height of twenty feet and leading to
a platform ten feet higher. Thence a perfectly safe cleft passes
directly up for another forty feet, till a grassy ledge, clearly
visible only when marked by snow, takes one easily to the middle of the
long chimney. To mount the chimney is an undertaking well within the
powers of the average rock-climber, and with the additional merit of
being perfectly safe for a party of three.
[Illustration:
G. P. Abrahams & Sons, Photos. Keswick
THE ASCENT OF THE BROAD STAND
(_Face page 30_)]
Such are the Keswick Brothers’ Climb and Collier’s Climb, two of
the best conceived problems of the district and worthy of their
discoverers. The lower half of the latter is undeniably severe; even
the best have failed at it, and I propose in a separate section to
describe an ascent in detail, to point out the method our party adopted
to eliminate the risk that the climber is popularly supposed to accept
as inevitable, and to indicate how the Keswick Brothers’ route enables
us to avoid the worst piece altogether.
The next halt we make close to the Mickledore, within thirty-five feet
of the end of the Progress. Here a thin cleft, known as Petty’s Rift
for the last twenty years, leads to a square recess ten feet up, and
marks the start of the North or Penrith Climb up the Scawfell crags.
These are now only a few score feet above us. The illustration facing
page 26 shows how the upper outline of the cliff and the Mickledore
ridge approach to within a few feet of each other.
Having reached the Mickledore ridge it is well worth while walking
along it to its furthest end, and then bearing to the left on to the
Pulpit rock, for the sake of the fine view of the climbs we have
just been enumerating. The Eskdale side of Scawfell is terminated by
an abrupt vertical cliff that seemingly offers no sort of route for
the cragsman. Half way down to the corner of this cliff, a gully cuts
deeply into the mountain, and passes upwards at an apparent angle of
45° towards the tops of Moss Ghyll and Collier’s Climb.
The gully--Scawfell Chimney or Mickledore Chimney, as it is sometimes
distinctively called--has its own peculiar difficulties in wet or snowy
weather, but when at its best it may be attacked by comparatively
inexperienced men, if they are properly equipped and exercise ordinary
precautions. On the other hand, the gully represents the drainage
channel for a considerable area, and is usually wet.
Undoubtedly the easiest way from Mickledore up to the ridge facing us
is by the Broad Stand. The start is made in the cleft half way between
Mickledore and the foot of Scawfell Chimney. Three short pitches, each
less than ten feet, take us on to an easy slope that can be followed
to the upper part of the chimney. To keep up between the chimney on
our left and the steep cliffs to our right is an easy matter in clear
weather, till Pisgah appears on our right, the descent into Deep Ghyll
straight in front of us, and the cairn-crowned summit of the mountain a
hundred yards away towards the left.
This finishes the preliminary survey of the eastern face of Scawfell,
during the perusal of which the reader is recommended to examine the
diagram facing page 46.
THE BROAD STAND.--My first climb in the Lake District was up the
Broad Stand. Dr. S. and I had planned a week’s walking tour over the
Cumberland fells, guided by Baddeley and Jenkinson, and ignorant of the
existence of any regular rock practice hereabouts. We walked up from
Langdale one Sunday morning in heavy snow to the top of Rossett Ghyll,
and then studied the guide book for information concerning the small
tarn that lay a few feet beneath us. ‘Deep and clear, and good for
bathing,’ we read; so we bathed. It was long ago, and neither of us has
bathed during a snowstorm since. Our feet got benumbed standing on the
snow while we were dressing ourselves, and we had much ado to restore
circulation. Then as the day advanced and the air cleared a little,
it seemed possible that we might find a way up Scawfell Pikes, which,
we had read, was the highest point in England. With much ploughing
through soft snow, loaded with heavy knapsacks, and supported by but
one broken walking stick, we reached the topmost cairn in perfect
safety and realised the height of that Easter ambition. Then it was
that Dr. S. read aloud to me a thrilling description of the Mickledore
chasm, which presented an almost impassable barrier between the Pikes
and Scawfell, a terrific gap that only hardy cragsmen of the dales were
able to traverse. The ice-cold bath on that Sabbath morn had done much
to quench our spirit, but we had partially recovered ourselves, and a
burning desire to scale the majestic peak opposite flamed up in each
of us simultaneously, and drove us down towards the Pulpit rock that
sentinels the Mickledore. The guide-book was not wanting in detail.
There were three Ways of attacking Scawfell from Mickledore; first
the Chimney, then Broad Stand, and then the Lord’s Rake. I believe we
guessed the position of the chimney correctly, for after all there is
something to show for the name; but we were hopelessly at sea with
the other two. Dr. S. argued that Lord’s Rake sounded so much worse
than Broad Stand that we were bound to go for it wherever it might be
and however easy its aspect. Nobody at home would believe us if we
described a Broad Stand as a vertical wall hundreds of feet in height,
glistening with ice, and guarded above by overhanging boulders ready
to pulverise the bold invader. On the other hand, the Lord’s Rake
seemed remotely to suggest Jacob’s Ladder, and offered the imagination
a goodly choice of adjective and epithet. Where, then, was the Lord’s
Rake? We had little time to consider, and rapidly decided that the
Broad Stand was away down in Eskdale on the left, and the Lord’s Rake
straight up from Mickledore. Wherein we were wrong, as the previous
pages may show the reader. Then we tried to get up the wall just where
the Mickledore ridge strikes the cliff, but the cold soon drove us to
seek some easier start lower on the left. Thus it was that fate took
us to the actual Broad Stand, up which, inexperienced though we were,
we could scarcely help finding the correct route. Place a man at the
right starting point, and he will easily find the upward line of least
resistance, though not so swiftly as he would trace out the downward
line if he slipped.
Twelve yards down from the Mickledore we came to a deep recess in
the mountain side, large enough to penetrate if one is not burdened
with a knapsack. (A confirmation of the right spot is supplied by a
thinner crack six feet lower down the screes.) Wriggling up into the
recess and then out on to the slightly sloping platform above it was
a matter of only a few seconds, and we then found facing us a wall of
from eight to ten feet in height offering very little hand or foothold
for a direct attack. But by descending the sloping grassy ledge at its
foot we could see some iced ledges (clear rocks show the marks of many
boots) that suggested the circumvention of the difficulty. To these we
in turn trusted ourselves, and by passing round the somewhat awkward
left-hand corner of the wall we found an easy though steep route to
its flat top. Then a smaller wall of about seven feet barred the way.
It was easier than the last, though in those days the frost had not
scooped out the hollow on the edge, and by the help of my comrade’s
shoulders I reached the summit. The difficulties were obviously over;
we could walk up by the right on to the snow slope, above which, as our
early inspection from the Pulpit rock showed, there was an easy route
to the top of Scawfell. Unfortunately my friend was not up the last
step. I could not reciprocate his kindness and offer him my shoulders.
We had no rope, and the rocks were all glazed. I had not intended to
mention our ropeless condition, but the truth will out sooner or later;
neither had we nails in our boots. But apparently we had sense enough
to realize that an accident might happen if we tempted Providence any
further, and with some sorrow we decided to descend again. We found
our way down the Mickledore screes and Brown Tongue to Wastdale, and
there learnt that we had tried conclusions with the Broad Stand at
its worst. We also learnt that from the top of the third step which I
had reached the route lay up the snow slope to the broken rocks, then
slightly to the left until the easy part of the chimney could be looked
into, then obliquely up to the right over rough ground to the small
cairn overlooking Deep Ghyll. Many times since then, rattling down the
Broad Stand when the rocks were dry and our party well acquainted with
every inch of the ground, have we recalled that Easter Sunday and our
first essay of the Broad Stand. There have also been many occasions to
remember the golden rule in the descent of these crags. First find the
top of the Scawfell Chimney; keep it on the right till its one pitch is
just below. Then bear to the left down the grassy slope and hunt for
the notch in the top step of the Broad Stand.
The usual thing in a fog is to find oneself down in Eskdale. I remember
a photographic friend once leaving his camera at the foot of Deep Ghyll
while he went for an hour’s round of Lord’s Rake, Scawfell Cairn, and
the Broad Stand. The dense mountain mists gathered about him at the
top, and rendered useless his efforts to steer the true course. That
night he discovered himself at Boot, and three days elapsed before he
found his camera, suffering from the effects of over-exposure as much
as himself.
THE NORTH CLIMB.--This starts at Petty’s Rift, already
referred to on page 31, about twelve yards from Mickledore along the
Rake’s Progress. From a distance it looks as though the climb would
necessarily include the funnel-shaped gully below the Progress, and
the whole aspect of the work is somewhat forbidding. Nevertheless the
difficulties are concentrated in the first six feet. When once the
climber can get a foot on to the floor of the little square recess, his
safety is assured. In the photograph facing page 40 the positions of
the three members of the party indicate sufficiently well the course
usually taken. The last man is taking off with his left foot, and has
his right hand at the edge of the recess on to which he intends to
climb. The face is very exposed in wintry weather, and several stories
are told of parties who have suffered here from frostbite. It is not a
safe place to descend when ice is about the rocks.
The following account of the North or Penrith Climb is taken from Mr.
C. N. Williamson’s article in ‘All the Year Round.’ Introducing, as it
does, Mr. Seatree’s original description, I make no apology for quoting
it in full: ‘There is yet another and a more direct way of climbing the
Scawfell cliffs from Mickledore, which, for want of a better name, we
may christen the “North Climb.” The route is known to very few. It was
discovered for himself in 1874 by Mr. George Seatree.... Major Cundill
had already climbed it in 1869.
‘From the ridge we traversed a ledge of grass-covered rock (the Rake’s
Progress) to the right until we reached a detached boulder, stepping
upon which we were enabled to get handhold of a crevice six or seven
feet from where we stood. To draw ourselves up so as to get our feet
upon this was the difficulty. There is only one small foothold in that
distance, and to have slipped here would have precipitated the climber
many feet below. Having succeeded in gaining this foothold, we found
ourselves in a small rectangular recess with barely room to turn round.
From here it was necessary to draw ourselves carefully over two other
ledges into a small rift in the rocks, and then traverse on our hands
and knees another narrow ledge of almost eight feet to the left, which
brought us nearly in a line with the Mickledore ridge. From here all
was comparatively smooth sailing.
‘The detached boulder may be identified with certainty by noticing
that it is imbedded in the Rake’s Progress close to the top of a
funnel-shaped grassy gully about ten or twelve yards from Mickledore.
None but experienced climbers should attempt the North Climb from the
Mickledore.’
SCAWFELL CHIMNEY.--A year after our first sorry attempt on Broad
Stand Dr. S. and I were being shown the merits of Cust’s gully on Great
End as a school for step-cutting, by an enthusiastic wielder of the
ice-axe, Mr. C. G. Monro. Neither of us knew much about the subject,
but it was pleasant to be well instructed, and on reaching the summit
of Great End we wondered where we could cut steps next. Monro suggested
an adjournment for lunch at Mickledore and a subsequent passage up the
doubtless snow-filled chimney: to which we all agreed.
On reaching the chimney, Monro took the lead and hopefully ploughed
through heavy wet snow as a preliminary. Unfortunately, the snow became
softer and deeper as we advanced, until at last we were up to our
waists in slush, and wet through. The pitch was not very far to seek.
We saw long dripping icicles barring our direct route onwards. Both
sides of the gully were heavily glazed with wet ice, and we foresaw
an anxious time of waiting while the leader prospected. At the time
we were not aware that the usual exit was upon the right-hand side of
the pitch, by a couple of easy broad ledges. Nor could we see that the
pitch was in two parts, cave upon cave, with a large resting-place
between; for the icicles hung in an impenetrable curtain. Monro
attacked the icicles valiantly. Twice he succeeded in working half
way up between the centre and left wall, but twice he was repulsed
vigorously, and found himself landed in the snow below. I was getting
cold and impatient. Monro was willing to take a breathing space. I
unroped and made for the left wall. Cutting little steps for hands and
feet in the ice that covered the wall, and using the fingers for all
they were worth, in some ungainly fashion I reached the level of the
top of the pitch and traversed on to the snow above. The axe had been
used, I suspect, more like a croquet mallet than anything else, and
introduced its own particular dangers. But it was of no consequence,
the pitch was climbed, and the shivering pair below tried to fling up
the rope to me. This was a matter of much difficulty, placed as we
were, but by approaching each other as far as we dared, a happy fling
brought the end of the rope to my hand, and I responded by throwing
down, to their extreme peril, the ice-axe that they needed to effect
their ascent. We managed the rest badly. My position was insecure in
the upper snow of the gully, or at any rate it seemed to be so. The
others were benumbed with cold and wet, unable to feel the holds or to
rely on getting any help from me. We certainly were not a strong party,
and there was no possibility of mutual aid. The only consolation was
in the fact that all danger was absent; a fall could only result in a
plunge into ten feet of soft snow, but we never afterwards spoke with
pride of that afternoon’s work. The other two decided to give it up,
and go down to Mickledore again. My own feelings were not consulted,
but what matter? The Broad Stand was somewhere about. I might descend
that way and shout when in trouble. We joined again at Mickledore, and
rather gloomily glissaded to Hollow Stones.
[Illustration:
G. P. Abraham & Sons, Photos. Keswick
THE PENRITH CLIMB FROM MICKLEDORE]
That evening at Wastdale we hunted out Williamson’s reference to the
Scawfell Chimney. ‘It is impossible to get straight up the chimney,
as the way is blocked by an overhanging slab, and escape must be
effected either by the right-hand wall near the top, where handhold is
miserably inadequate, or by the “corner,” forty feet up the chimney.
The passage of the corner is a matter of stride and balance, as there
is no positive hold for the hands. There is a bad drop into the chimney
behind, and a slip in rounding the corner would end in broken limbs, if
not a battered skull. A man essaying the corner must apply himself like
a plaister to an unpleasantly projecting rock, and then by shifting the
weight from one foot to the other (for the legs are stretched widely
apart) he can creep round.’
The chimney has not often been climbed by that variation of mine since
then. In dry weather it is perfectly safe to ascend or descend direct
by the pitch. In the ascent both sides of the gully may be used at
first; then comes an awkward crawl over the first jammed boulder, into
the secondary cave. Then, taking care of a few loose stones, another
jammed boulder forming the roof is overcome--it is only a few feet
high--and a passage out on the right is made possible. A long stretch
of scree next fills the bed of the gully, the right wall of which is
here broken away almost entirely, so that the climber generally makes
an exit, and passes straight up to the Deep Ghyll cairn. But a pitch
still remains to terminate the scree, and must be climbed by him who
would assure himself of having explored the gully in its entirety.
THE PARSON’S GULLY.--An easy way of descending to upper Eskdale
other than by the Mickledore route was pointed out a few years ago by
the Rev. T. C. V. Bastow. It is by a short gully with two pitches,
due south of the summit cairn. When drift snow lies about it, it is
generally possible to walk or glissade down the whole length of the
gully on to the screes below.