CHAPTER XVI

_COMBE GHYLL_

Many a pedestrian walking down Borrowdale from the Styhead pass, looking backward at the fearful descent of some 1,100 feet of rough fellside, reaches a point in the valley where he experiences difficulty in recalling his track. For the valley between Gable and Seathwaite Fell is hidden, and his choice hovers between the combe below Sprinkling Tarn, walled in by Seathwaite Fell and Glaramara, and the upland valley that nestles between Thornythwaite and Rosthwaite Fells. His perplexity is increased when he notices that neither hollow satisfies the condition of background. The one is barred by the crags of Great End, the other by the steep wall of Raven Crag, a high dependence of Glaramara; whereas the Styhead pass as seen from Grange ought to show distant Scawfell as a background, and be easily recognised. One of these two hollows the climber will do well to identify.

Combe Ghyll is the name of the course that drains the north side of Glaramara, the stream making its way down the little valley that has already been described as lying between Thornythwaite and Rosthwaite Fells. At about the 1,000-feet level in the valley the land is flat and marshy; with little provocation the stream could produce a respectable lake, and the tourist in wet weather feels that such absence of deception would be to his advantage. Above this level the mountain rises abruptly, and the ghyll has to acknowledge two sources. That which sends its supply straight down the centre of Raven Crag was the first to be regarded as Combe Ghyll. But the other is longer and more obvious. Looking up from the marsh the watercourse is very distinct away to the left, though the climb is equally in evidence on the right. When a short time since three curious cragsmen (including the curious writer) penetrated to the recesses of this almost unknown country to find the climb that Messrs. Robinson and Wilson had discovered and christened as long ago as September, 1893, we were compelled by that name to tackle the east branch, but vowed at the same time to go later to the west. Our conscientiousness was praiseworthy, though mistaken, but as events developed themselves our mistake had happy consequences. We managed both ghylls, and were probably instrumental in preventing a nasty accident to a couple of would-be mountaineers whom we discovered in difficulties.

It was on a hot day in April. We had been disporting ourselves for photographic purposes in the Kern Knotts crack, and had sauntered down to Seatoller for some soda and milk to give grace to our jam sandwiches. Then we walked down the Rosthwaite Road as far as the bridge over the Derwent, and went across the opposite shoulder into the combe. It was very close down in Borrowdale, and we were glad to get out of the well of warm air and follow the water for a mile or so to the marshy upland. Here the walking was soft and pleasant. Water in our boots was no hardship, and we even hoped that there would be many waterfalls in our gully. Then came the dilemma and our decision to keep to the main stream. But the aspect of the Raven Crag gully on our right, as we skirted the boggy ground below us, was magnificent. Pitch rose above pitch apparently without any easy stretches, and the whole gully seemed to form just one vertical chimney in the rocks, five hundred feet high. Moss Ghyll itself is not grander than the Raven Crag gully as it appeared that afternoon to our longing gaze, and even now that the details of the latter climb are impressed vividly in my mind I can assure myself that it was one of the finest I have ever undertaken in Cumberland.

We followed our watercourse right up to its beginning close to a little pass over towards Langstrath. In general appearance it somewhat resembled Piers Ghyll, with its slight gradient and short pitches, its rotten walls and unavoidable water. But in respect to the last consideration we were almost exempted from a wetting, for the ghyll was nearly dry, and only in the direct ascent of one pitch did we run any risk of a drenching. No doubt the normal state of the gully is very much worse than we found it.

With hazy impression of a hundred-feet pitch we came provided with two eighty-feet lengths of rope, but managed our climb with one only. The first pitch was about fifteen feet high; the left wall was feasible, the direct climb involved the passage through a dripping cave and out by a hole in the roof, and the right side of the gully was of steep grass and insecure rock. We took to the latter, and with care managed the ascent without dislodging much that might help later climbers. Above this we had a view of a waterfall about fifty or sixty yards further up, and inasmuch as the rocks showed signs of nailed boots we were for some time prevailed upon to believe that we had really found our quest.

The bed of the stream was rough but easy for a while. Two small pitches about six feet high scarcely gave us pause before we reached the foot of the waterfall that we had seen from the first pitch. It was about twelve yards high; the walls were four or five feet apart, and glistening with the wet. They did not appear to offer very excellent holds, but I found it possible to face the fall and utilize as footholds sundry diminutive ledges on either side. It was a case of spanning the gully and walking up. About twenty feet from the bottom the holds on the left wall were somewhat greasy, but a yard higher the ledges on the right had so much improved that it was a safe venture to pull over to that side and effect a traverse to the top of the double obstacle over which the water was falling. While the others were rapidly following, we were surprised to hear voices from above. I advanced a little, and discovered two young men perched precariously on the face of the steep wall to the right. Almost at the same moment a large stone fell from their feet towards us, and, in an ecstasy of fear lest they should bombard our last man, who was yet in difficulties bestriding the gully below, we shouted to them to stay still a bit and wait for us to advance to a place of safety. Then with all speed we clambered up to them, and let them down on the rope into the gully again. They were distinctly in peril; that side of the ghyll was as treacherous, with its loose splinters of rock and steep unreliable grass, as it could manage to be without falling by its own weight. The top was slightly overhanging, and could bear no extra pulling. The men were inexperienced; one of them had no nails in his boots; they had walking-sticks tied tightly to their wrists with string, and when we reached them they were tired out with the physical and mental strain. We reflected on our wonderful good fortune in choosing this gully, and thought with some bitterness that this was the way that the noblest of sports acquired its notoriety for great danger. It transpired that they had scrambled down into the gully at the side of the waterfall that we had just climbed, and saw no means of getting out of the hole excepting by this loose wall.

We were now at the foot of a small pitch about twenty-five feet high. It was divided by a vertical buttress, and the water was flowing down to the left. The right-hand side seemed rather insecure, so I climbed some thirty feet up the wall of the gully again, and the second man clambered up the right-hand recess, confident in the support of the rope if his foothold gave way. He then traversed easily to the top of the pitch, and drew in my rope as I descended to his level and followed him. We asked the last man how were the passengers to be conveyed up the pitch. He replied, with perhaps just a touch of malice, that the direct passage through the water was the shortest, quickest, and cheapest route to the top, and we at the summit were of the same mind. Then our tourists were tied separately to the rope, and hauled up through the fall. It was very uncomfortable for them, but we got as wet ourselves later on. We hoped that their bedraggled condition would prompt them to a speedy descent and a relinquishment, for that day at least, of the joys of crag-climbing. That pitch was the last in the gully of any magnitude, and our friends were able to walk out easily on to the open fell and so down to Borrowdale. We ourselves gave one last look around for the hundred-feet fall that was to finish Combe Ghyll, and then, finding it not, we bore rapidly westwards across the mountain in search of the genuine article. [Illustration:

PLATE VIII.

PILLAR ROCK, EAST SIDE (p. 257).

About 200 feet of Rock are shown.

_a_ Left Pisgah Route. _b_ East Pisgah Chimney. _c_ Right Pisgah Route. _d_ Start of Slab and Notch Route. _e_ The Slab. _f_ The Notch. _g_ The Ledge. _h_ Pendlebury Traverse. _k_ The Curtain.

A High Man. B Pisgah. C Low Man. D Jordan. E East Jordan Gully. F Great Chimney. G Savage Gully.]

As we skirted the foot of the crags we passed two small gullies that rose steeply above us, and that for a moment made us stop to consider their qualifications. In twenty minutes from the top of Combe Ghyll we came to the first deep and well marked watercourse. It was our Raven Crag Gully, and when we peered up into its dark recesses we felt that good sport was at last before us. We finished the remnants of our lunch and drank a little water. It was not a tempting beverage, for the rocks just above were covered with objectionable vegetation, and the supply was so much below the average that the pools seemed almost stagnant. Also, I was haunted with the recollection of a dead sheep that we had passed in the other gully, lying on a ledge close to the stream. Mountain water is not always free from microbes, especially in those craggy regions where sheep come to grief.

We started on the climb close by a little pool of water at the foot of a short and greasy pitch. It could have been taken direct, but we worked round the buttress on the left and entered the gully a few feet higher. Then, penetrating well into the recess, we were at once confronted by the first big pitch. A steep buttress divided the gully into two parts, the left-hand recess being cut deeply into the mountain and forming a long and narrow waterfall. This was the true bed of the gully. To the right of the buttress the recess was comparatively shallow, but its easier inclination somewhat compensated for its exposed position, and we found that the footholds were just sufficient to render a rapid advance possible. About forty feet up I craved the second man’s helping hand, but while he was advancing to offer assistance an easy way of swarming up the buttress commended itself; I found a resting-place at the level of the top of the pitch, eighty or ninety feet above the foot of the fall, where the second man could join me before I ventured on the traverse round to the bed of the gully. The traverse reminded us of the steps over the buttress from the Tennis Court ledge in Moss Ghyll, and was no doubt a place to respect in wet or icy weather. Our last man came up more directly, keeping on the inner side of the buttress for the first half of the climb and then working straight up the pitch. Excepting for an awkward bit of some three feet at the middle of the ascent, his route had advantages over ours. The rocks throughout were splendid, and their warmth and dryness made the scrambling easy.

A yard or two further, over great boulders bestrewn in the bed of the gully, and we were brought up at the foot of the second great obstacle. Here the two side walls approached to within a distance of four feet of each other, and straight down the centre from a height of seventy feet dripped the weak promise of a second waterfall. Close to the water it was impossible to ascend, but some ten feet away from it suitable ledges on either side discovered themselves. These enabled me to use both walls in a directly vertical ascent for so long as they were within four feet of each other. Then I pulled over to a crack on the right and performed a safety wriggle to more open ground above, whence it was easy to clamber over the big boulders at the top of the pitch. The second man was asked to prospect the route on the other side of the left wall, and came up with the report that the traverse out of the main gully was easy and that the rest of the ascent, about eighty feet of solid rock, was just comfortable hand-and-foot work all through. While the third was adopting the same tactics which we afterwards remembered had been employed by a previous party from Keswick, I went on to inspect the next obstacle. It certainly was the worst-looking pitch in the whole ascent. A large cave was formed by two massive boulders jammed between the narrow walls seventy feet above our heads. The first-floor of the cave was fifty feet up, and from its roof dripped the inevitable water-supply to damp our daring ardour. The walls of the gully were close together and covered with wet moss. Holds were very scarce, and for a moment we considered the advisability of working out on the right as others had done before us, and traversing into the gully above the cave. But a tentative backing-up in the main chimney gave some hope of success in the direct attack; and abandoning all idea of making a final exit with dry garments, I cautiously worked up the inner face of a leaf of rock on the right wall, the others steadying my feet on sundry infinitesimal ledges so long as I was within reach, and then supporting me with words of encouragement and approval. When within six feet of the floor of the cave it became necessary to wedge well into the chimney, with back against the left and scanty hold opposite. Then a desperate wriggle gave me a lift of about eighteen inches and the handholds improved sufficiently for haulage. Leaving the left wall, I could just thrust my knee in a corner under the fall, and lever up to the opposite side. Next a few easy ledges brought me into the cave, and I paused to wring the moisture from my coat and cap before inviting the others to follow on. By regarding their manœuvres and subsequent criticism it impressed me as likely that I might have saved myself some exertion, and perhaps have better avoided the water, by keeping up the edge of the leaf of rock instead of attacking its inner face. But that course would expose the leader to a greater risk of slipping at a failing hold, and would demand more ingenious tactics.

Our cave was large and airy; the water passed into it at the back, so that we could easily stay at the entrance and avoid the fall. High up above our heads were a couple of apertures in the roof, probably wide enough for our passage, but difficult to reach. The right wall of the gully was well broken up, and without ado we set ourselves at it and worked round the edge of the nearer overhanging block as a step to the other. Some thirty feet of my rope ran out before the second man advanced from the bed of the cave: not that the climbing refused to admit an earlier start, but that he was busy wringing out his clothes. I awaited his advance impatiently, for a bend in the gully prevented my seeing the next pitch above us--the last in the climb. But when he was firmly braced against the top boulder, hauling in the rope of the last man, I advanced to the end of my tether to steal an early glance at the pitch that report had spoken of so respectfully. Robinson’s account in the Wastdale book was succinct enough: ‘A return on to the floor of the ghyll was made near the top of the third pitch, when a little scrambling led to a very fine waterfall more than 100 feet high. Here climb in the water as little as you can; then diverge slightly on to the right hand of the ghyll just where the water spouts over a small recess; next traverse across a rather difficult slab into the cave under the final boulder, which is climbed on the left hand and is the last difficulty.’ The only part of his prescription that I had carried in my mind was the ‘climb in the water as little as you can,’ and we had been applying it all day with varying success. The trouble always is to make any headway at all against a descending mass of cold water, and we had come to regard the advice as indicative solely of the fact that an available route was only to be found in dry weather. To climb in the water as little as possible meant to choose a dry season and to mount by the usual line of flow. Another account that may prove interesting was given me by Messrs. G. and A. Abraham: ‘Some enjoyable scrambling in the bed of the ghyll brought us quickly to the last obstacle and certainly the finest part of the whole climb. The climber is immediately reminded here of the great amphitheatre in the Screes Gully, for, although on a much smaller scale, we have the same gigantic buttresses and receding slabs, with three suggested exits. The most obvious way out here is up the waterfall as usual. This we attempted until the amount of water on the steep, slippery rocks forced us out on to the difficult right-hand wall, about seventy feet above the beginning of the pitch. Here we climbed straight upwards, and, traversing round a very awkward corner, landed right on the top of the pitch, the leader requiring considerable help for the last twenty feet.’ Our own experiences were a little different, a consequence of our fixed intention to force a route directly upwards without any traversing away on to the right wall of the gully. Also, we were relieved of the necessity of avoiding water, because it fell too diffusely to be avoided, and so small an area was left to any of us that could be affected seriously by further saturation. The first part of the pitch was perfectly simple. We could employ holds on either side and clamber up to a platform made by an un-jammed stone with rounded corners that had been caught in the cleft. It was safe enough for our purposes, and two men could lodge themselves conveniently above it. Straight up overhead was a formidable chimney that looked feasible in its upper portion but impossible to reach directly from below. A long block of rock twenty feet high, possibly part of the living mountain, prevented a passage up the pitch to the immediate right of the chimney; but between the smooth slabs of wet rock that formed the right wall of the gully and this long boulder a narrow crack wound its way up to Robinson’s cave, and it occurred to all of us simultaneously that the crack might be negotiated and the awkward slab-traverse thereby avoided. But the crack was as nothing to begin with, and from our rickety platform we could obtain but scanty notion of its safety higher up. I suggested advancing a little to prospect, craving a shoulder to start from, and a steadying hand for my completer confidence on the doubtful little ledges that we were calling footholds. The first ten feet went very well, but although I found the crack useful for the left knee, it was unable to accept the responsibility of my complete stability. I sang out for another steadying hand, and my most admirable second clambered on to the shoulders of the last man without a moment’s hesitation. They plastered themselves flat against the slab, and I felt my right foot cease its uncanny trembling as the outstretched hand held it firmly in the niche it longed to use. This was downright luxury, and in my sense of security there stole a moment’s shame at the thought of so much dependence on the others. But there! in climbing as in football the combination is everything in the highest developments of the game, and though success may now and again be due to the unaided efforts of one man, the full satisfaction that should follow victory will only be felt by the whole party when all have contributed something to the manœuvring. Be it remembered that in crag-climbing two heads are better than one, even if the second head is only used as a foothold. But there we were, three links in a chain that reached from the platform to the widest part of the crack that was to lead us to the cave. The position was not to be dwelt upon, and I hastened to relieve the others of their common burden. In the crack and at arm’s length above me was a well-secured angular stone round which the rope could be passed. Using it as a hold I was able to quit the precarious foothold on the right and thrust the left knee well into the crack. The position was one that could admit of no slip, the leg being sufficient to hold the body well in; and before quitting that favoured spot I untied the rope and slipped the free end through the hole at the back of the jammed stone before tying on again. The others had descended by this time to the platform and were taking in all the slack. Whatever the difficulty of the few remaining moves to the cave, I was insured against a big fall and could trust to the belaying of the little angular block that had so neatly adjusted itself to our needs. As a matter of fact the precaution was scarcely necessary, though eminently proper under the circumstances. The ledges above me were good and firm, and with the rope gently paid out from below I reached the cave without more trouble.

The floor was sloping; but a comfortable and reposeful attitude could be indulged in, well at the back, far from the dripping eaves of the cave. But I had committed an error of judgment with the rope, threading the hole from above the jammed stone instead of from below, before tying the bowline round my waist. At the time the importance of that consideration had not occurred to me, but now in my ease, hauling up the slack between myself and the second, I felt a sudden jerk. The rope was wrapped completely round the jammed stone, whose angularity, that had before commended itself to the hands, now introduced so much friction that the rope would no longer slip freely round it. We were perplexed for a while, till our enterprising middleman, who had many times before offered a key to our difficulties, proposed climbing up as a leader, with the second rope attached to his waist, and the fixed rope above him used for steadying purposes whenever necessary. We knew that the jammed stone that fixed the upper rope could not be dislodged easily, and indeed I was able to hold on to my end and oppose any dangerous leverage. He climbed up with every confidence, and reached the crack safely. Then, repeating my movement with the left leg, he held on while disentangling my rope, tying himself to its lower end as soon as the complications were unravelled. A few moments more gave me a companion in the cave, and built, as it was, for two persons only, he mildly suggested my withdrawal for the benefit of the third man. Thence our method of advance was practically identical with Robinson’s. We had a little walk of six feet over towards the left wall of the gully, by ledges that lay on the very verge of a sheer drop of eighty feet to the foot of the pitch. Then the ascent was continued by a narrow crack that commenced in a somewhat sensational manner, not so much by reason of its difficulty as by the feeling of nothingness to fall back upon in case of a slip. The second was at my heels, and he was firmly braced up by the sole remaining tenant of the cave. Lifting the left leg as high up the crack as possible, and accepting a push from behind, I reached over a slab on the right and dragged up on to it. That was to be the last big effort; the final pitch was all below, and the gully eased away above me to its open finish. I shouted the tidings to the others. With all eagerness they followed, the last man claiming with pride the discovery of a grand foothold that he had unearthed or unmossed at the lower edge of the slab.

Well! we had had a rare little fight; the gully had taken us an hour and twenty minutes of continuous work, and we voted it a piece of solid good business.

There remained the long walk back to Wastdale and to dinner. I proposed getting there in an hour and a half, and started on the journey with a pipe in my mouth. We had about three miles of rough, high-level skirting along the 2,000-feet contour to Sprinkling Tarn, two miles of descent to the Burnthwaite level, and a mile of valley walking at the finish. The consequence was that very little smoking was enjoyed. We were a quarter of an hour behind time at Burnthwaite, a laudable spurt in the valley being abruptly terminated by the discovery of another climbing-party on the track. We had found that if two parties were late, dinner would await their arrival; hence our motive for haste was removed and we composed our gait and our thoughts for a more sedate entry into the hotel yard.

NOTE: In the first edition of this book, I followed Mr. Haskett Smith’s nomenclature and located the climb in Eagle Crag. It seems that this shoulder of Glaramara goes by the name of Raven Crag, and I have changed the name of the gully accordingly. There are many Raven Crags and many Eagle Crags in the district, but climbers need only be warned against confusing the Raven Crag Gully on Glaramara with the Raven Crag Chimney on Great Gable.