CHAPTER IV

_MOSS GHYLL, COLLIER’S CLIMB, AND KESWICK BROTHERS’ CLIMB_

MOSS GHYLL.--There are accounts of explorations of this famous gully as far back as 1889. It was styled Sweep Ghyll by Mr. R. C. Gilson, partly for euphonious grouping with Deep Ghyll and Steep Ghyll, and partly as a suggestion of ‘the probable profession of its future first climber.’ In June, 1889, a strong set of four managed to penetrate upwards into its recesses a yard or two beyond Tennis Court ledge, 300 feet above the Rake’s Progress, and almost exactly half way from start to finish. Here the explorers saw the great jammed boulders apparently barring all further progress, and decided to return the way they came. Then, a few days later, another party went round to the top of the gully and descended to the lower edge of the small scree that so quietly terminates the high and difficult last chimney. Here they firmly anchored themselves, and let down an adventurous member on 160 feet of rope. He descended in this way as far as the upper portion of the great obstacle in the middle of the gully, but saw no way whatever for an ascending party to circumvent or attack successfully the immense barrier. He apparently realized that the upper chimney could be fairly climbed, though of course it would tax the resources of the best of cragsmen; but the jammed boulders he judged to be insuperable, and returned to tell his companions the melancholy news. They left Moss Ghyll with the conviction that it would never be climbed, and until December, 1892, everyone else who came and saw turned back with much the same impression.

On the 27th of that month Messrs. Collie, Hastings, and Robinson made a determined attack on the ghyll. The winter was exceptionally fine and the rocks were clean and dry. They easily reached the Tennis Court ledge, and thence traversed into the gully. Penetrating the cave below the big pitch, Dr. Collie, who was leading, climbed up to the roof and out by a small window between the jammed boulders. Thence, by the ingenious expedient of hacking at a thin undercut plate of rock, he exposed a small foothold on the wall that enabled him to traverse out from the pitch and into a place of safety beyond. Thence to the top of the pitch was an easy matter, and the remaining members of the party quickly followed him. It has since been discovered that the hardest part of the gully was yet before them. They, however, had practically solved the main problem, and were contented to work out of the gully by steep ‘mantelshelf’ climbing up to the left. The honour of the first strict ascent of Moss Ghyll fell to Dr. Collier a few days later, who climbed the ghyll from beginning to end under the impression that the previous party had done the same. Dr. Collier was accompanied by four others, and was emphatic in his opinion that the final chimney represented the hardest part of the climb. Two days later he took up Professors Marshall and Dixon, and from the former I obtained sufficient information to start off one morning on my own account to learn for the first time what Moss Ghyll was like.

It was distinctly a day of adventure, and I learnt a great deal concerning the ghyll. The passage across the Collie step appeared to me the most difficult, but the loose slabs over which one has to walk adroitly were then covered with fresh snow. The famous step was invisible, and I had to stoop and scrape in order to determine its exact shape and position. At the first attempt on the traverse I slipped, and fell into the snow-bed of the gully below. The result was scarcely surprising, though eminently uncomfortable. But the falling was, under the circumstances, almost part of the programme, and a rope had been fixed in the interior of the cavern, passed out through the ‘window,’ and then attached to my waist, to eliminate the danger of plunging some 400 feet down to the foot of the gully. The second attempt was successful, though I confess to a feeling of lively apprehension as the critical point was being passed.

Thence to the parting of the ways was easy travelling, and an exit was made by the left-hand route. I returned two days after to fetch axe and rope, that had been left at the big pitch, but it was not until the Whitsuntide of 1896 that a suitable opportunity occurred of visiting Moss Ghyll at its best, for the purposes of comparison and of exploration of the direct finish. During that interval the climb had been repeated many times, and Moss Ghyll was by way of becoming ‘an easy day for a lady.’ Hot-headed youths would arrive fresh at Wastdale, inquire for the hardest thing about, and at the mention of Moss Ghyll would straightway fling themselves into the breach and by hook or crook wriggle themselves up and out in triumph. Others were unsuccessful, and it was always amusing to learn where the stupendous difficulty had arisen, where no mortal man could have gone further. The personal equation was always in evidence, both in the actual climbing and in the history thereof.

My companions at Whitsuntide were Messrs. W. Brigg and Greenwood. Neither of them had been in the ghyll before, but both were very keen to make its acquaintance, though so far as reading could take them the smallest details of the climb were perfectly well known. We separated off from a larger party on the Rake’s Progress, and at the entrance to the gully, which I have already defined in position, we roped up and began the rock climbing at once. There are a few small and stiff pitches that may be taken as they come in the first fifty feet of ascent from the Progress; but we were quite willing to make the usual divergence to the right from the entrance to the first cave. This led us up easy grass and rock close to the gully, which soon dwindled into utter insignificance by reason of its right wall being almost entirely cut away. Keeping out in the open until the slope suddenly steepened, we made a traverse into the gully, and walked up the screes until stopped by a long and awkward-looking grass-crowned chimney. Then we were hemmed in on both sides, and my friends were invited to define the nature of the next move. They knew something of the locality; we had to climb up the right-hand wall on to a level platform some eighteen feet higher, and then work back into the ghyll by a slightly upward traverse. The platform was the well-known Tennis Court ledge, and its vertical wall was one of the chief difficulties of former days. When in 1893 I had first occasion to climb the wall, there was much ice about and it was easiest to work some way up the chimney before stepping out on to the wall. The second attempt, two days later, was in worse circumstances, and I preferred working directly upwards to a still higher level before diverging. On that occasion it seemed as though the simplest plan would have been to avoid the Tennis Court ledge altogether and keep to the chimney. But Mr. Kempson has since pointed out that the grass holds at the top are unreliable except when frost holds the earth together. With Brigg and Greenwood I should have been loth to leave the Tennis Court unvisited. So we clambered directly up to it. The holds in the lower part of the wall were slight but very firm. The surface was rough and reliable. Two-thirds of the way up we found a little spike of rock that offered an admirable hold, sufficient to belay the rope safely while rounding the top edge of the wall and drawing up on to the platform. The others then came up with ease, and we halted a moment to look at the view.

The ledge is scarcely large enough for tennis, it might be eight feet long and two or three feet wide; the name is just the overflow of the pretty wit of some early explorer. Above us rose threateningly the vertical rampart that separates Moss Ghyll and Steep Ghyll. We could see the jammed boulders a little higher up in our ghyll. They appear small from Hollow Stones, but from our ledge each looked almost as large as a church. Wastdale Church we had in mind. The opposite wall of the ghyll looked hopelessly inaccessible, and we were little surprised that so many before us had been content to look and return. The traverse into the ghyll again was not so easy. If the leader slipped it would require clever management of the rope on the part of the others to avoid an unwilling follow on, though I believe a party was once tested here in that manner--and survived the test.

It was necessary to pass round a small buttress on to the scree bed of the gully. The first two steps were upwards, with just a steadying hold above for the hands. It was not desirable to keep too high, an unnecessary lengthening of the _mauvais pas_ that some climbers recommend. The footholds are not perfect; they are large, but slope the wrong way. When dry, the friction is ample to prevent slipping. Where the rocks are glazed, as I have good occasion to remember, the passage is distinctly dangerous, especially the return from the gully to the Tennis Court ledge.

Thence, when all had rounded the corner safely, we walked up scree into the large cavern formed by the two jammed boulders. The one would of itself have formed a bridge across the gully, with a recess between it and the steep bed of the gully; the other, which is much larger, has fallen on to the first and roofed over the recess. When well within the cave we could see the ‘window’ high up between the two boulders, the one weak point by which the pitch could be attacked. I clambered up the interior of the cave and on to the window-sill. One of the others followed me, the third staying below to anchor the rope more firmly. From the window we could see the smooth steep wall on our right by which we were to traverse outwards. A couple of feet below our level we could observe that the rock formed a sharp horizontal edge six feet long, below which it overhung considerably. Just along this edge we were preparing to walk, using two steps that were sufficiently large for our needs. The first was the step cut by Dr. Collie. The second was at the further end of the short promenade, and was just capable of holding the toes of both boots. Starting with the right foot on the first step, the further end of the second step was taken in a long stride with the left. The right was then brought up to it, and the left reached round the corner at the end on to a respectable and satisfying foothold. The trick of balancing was not very difficult, providing of course that the body was kept as nearly as possible vertical. A tumble when no snow was about would be painful even with a rope to limit its freedom, so we moved with deliberation and with a due sense of the difficulties of the place. After passing the dreaded _pas-de-deux_, I reached in about ten feet of ascent a satisfactory recess, where a ‘belaying pin’ was to be found. It is an excellent projection of rock, sometimes overlooked by climbers, behind which the rope can be slipped, and held with firmness in the event of a fall. It is a little awkward for the leader to pass directly up into the ghyll again before the second man moves away from the window. Such a course would require a long rope. Using the belaying pin we found that a sixty-feet length of rope was ample for the party of three, and no time was lost in unroping or re-adjusting. When our second man reached the pin I quitted the recess to make room for him, and mounted into the gully while he played up the last man. A few feet of easy scree brought us into the large open portion of the ravine which marks the only spot where it is possible to break away to the left from the gully. The final crags in front rose abruptly up for another 200 feet, and were deeply cut by the vertical Collier’s Chimney, which starts almost at once from our level. The skyline trended downwards by the left, so that the open route to the top was not so long in point of distance as the other.

It certainly was easier to work up the wall to the left. It rose at a steep angle, and was columnar in structure, with long, porphyritic slabs crowned by small levels of tufted grass. The leader would often be unable to help his followers with the rope, but the successive ledges could be so chosen that no great distance would exist between the resting-places. Such open work is often more trying for the nerves than harder chimney climbing, but it is always admirable practice when the ledges are reliable.

I had quitted the gully by this variation three years before, and wanted both on my own account and that of my friends to work out the alternative route. I started up the right wall, at first steadied by the left, but soon found myself too far out of the chimney to feel at all comfortable. Thirty feet up was a jammed stone blocking the narrow way, apparently very effectually. But we had heard of a possible wriggle behind the jammed stone, and with a reprehensible lack of daring I made a traverse to the chimney again, and began working up it with back and knee in the orthodox manner. The situation was safe enough, but the effort of lifting oneself inch by inch was supremely fatiguing, and when I discovered the hole behind the boulder to be about half my minimum sectional area I began to regret the scheme. But it was too late to return, and with a dread fear of closing up the ‘through’ route for ever, I straightened out one arm above my head and thrust it through the hole. Fortunately I had no camera sack to hold me back, a frequent source of annoyance in a tight place. Here we were all travelling light, and I had nothing to thrust through the aperture but a limp body that was at every moment lessening its rigidity. As soon as both shoulders were well in, the rest followed more easily by vigorous prisings with the elbows, which are so useful in upward thrusting. Dragging myself into a standing position on the jammed boulder, I called on the others to follow. They chose the outside course, making two little détours out and back on the vertical wall, probably the exact plan adopted by Dr. Collier in the first ascent. My position in this little ‘sentry-box’ was secure, and the rope could be manipulated with all necessary care till the three of us were gathered close together in the tiny recess. Then we had a somewhat easier scramble up the next vertical portion of the chimney, to pass some small jammed stones twenty feet higher. We used the same wall and found the footholds in it more obviously arranged for our convenience. The first climber had surely a bad time of it on this wall, seeing that it was all moss-covered, and required an immense amount of preliminary clearing before the holds could be discerned. But moss has had no chance of growing there for the last four years, and we had none to trouble us. A couple of minutes carried us from the sentry-box to the top of the next pitch. The slope of the ghyll suddenly became easier, scree led to a short and easy rock pitch, somewhat spoilt by loose stones, and then a walk to the top brought us in contact with friends and the commissariat.

THE PISGAH BUTTRESS.--In the second chapter mention was made of the small pinnacle of Pisgah that flanked the Professor’s Chimney. Viewing the crags from Mickledore, it will be seen that this pinnacle is the culminating point of the ridge between Moss Ghyll and Steep Ghyll. It is convenient to introduce here a brief account of the first ascent of this ridge directly from the ‘Tennis Court.’ Messrs. G. and A. Abraham had repeatedly assured me that their inspection from neighbouring points of view had been favourable, but it was not until April 22, 1898, when ascending Scawfell Pinnacle by the Low Man, that I examined the Pisgah ridge with the object of attacking it. The same afternoon these two friends awaited my arrival on the ‘Tennis Court.’ I came along the Mickledore towards the Pulpit Rock to enjoy a rest and the society of a party of friends, but was disappointed of both by a call from the Ledge. In ten minutes from the Mickledore I joined them, and while recovering breath, was interested to hear of their attempts to reach the Ledge by other ways than Moss Ghyll. Then, disposing the rope properly, we went to the extreme right corner and started the real business. I had a vertical crack about twelve feet high to surmount. It led to a small platform similar to the one from which we began our climb, and presented the usual difficulties--no hand or foothold. A shoulder was given me, then probably a head, then a steadying hand for my struggling feet, the left arm being thrust well into the crack and the right doing as best it could on the wall, until it could reach the grassy edge of the platform above. Once on this the prospect was pleasing, and we dubbed the spot a ‘Fives Court.’ Thence a steep chimney rose directly towards the ridge. I mounted some twenty feet and debated whether the others might safely come up and help. There seemed to be a fair chance of entering an overhanging chimney away up to my left, or of following the direct route to the ridge. The first course attracted me a yard or two along a narrow ledge, until the way was barred by an immense poised block. It trembled as I touched the horrible thing; so did my friends down below, and they besought me to play the straight game, and aim for the arête instead of aiming at them. They were perfectly just in their choice, and it is as well that their advice was followed, for we should have had a terrible time working the overhanging chimney. Ten or fifteen feet of rather careful scrambling brought me to the edge of the buttress, at a point where I could descend a little on the Steep Ghyll side and belay the others with absolute security while they mounted.

The point we had reached was on a level with the top of the Slingsby’s Chimney on the Pinnacle. Another party of climbers were operating over there, and gave us some useful information as to the work we had above us. Our rock was not altogether firm and reliable, so that the next bit of vertical ridge in front was discarded in favour of a slight détour on the left face. Belayed as he was by the others, the leader ran very little risk, and employing a succession of moderately firm, tufted ledges, he dragged himself steadily up for another twenty feet before his companions quitted their belay and joined him. Then we unroped and walked up the remaining hundred feet with no trouble whatever, astonished to find that our difficulties had been so few and so rapidly overcome. In an hour from the ‘Tennis Court’ we were swinging down the Broad Stand ledges.

COLLIER’S CLIMB.--For many years it was currently supposed that any attempt to scale the precipice between the North Climb at Mickledore and Steep Ghyll round by the Pinnacle, ranked the daring enthusiast as one _quem Deus vult perdere_, and, moreover, that the gods would not give him the chance to finish his undertaking. But with the advent of a greater number of experienced climbers, coming to Wastdale with recollections of the stupendous rocks in the Swiss Alps or the Austrian Dolomites, a reaction gradually set in. To many nothing seemed impossible with a party of three and an Alpine rope. But a line must be drawn somewhere to separate the possible from the impossible, and some try to draw it by their own experience. These constitute what is called the ultra-gymnastic school of climbing. Its members are generally young and irresponsible. With years will come a desire to depart this life in one piece, after the common joys are realized that life is able to offer. The quick-burning fever for wild adventure dies away with the approach of workable theories of life. Whatever the mental phenomenon may be, I am convinced that the physical is vestigial--a trace of our former savagery, a suggestion of the lively past, when the struggle for existence involved more muscle than mind.

Wherefore let live the ultra-gymnasts, if indeed they can pass through their March-madness without coming to grief; nor should we attempt to inoculate them with some harmless sport, for the result is to render the sport dangerous.

To return to the separating line that suggested this digression. Those who have sought to define it theoretically have been of the foolish ones, for it has no absolute position for mankind. Each individual possesses a line of his own, and at first in looking for it he causes it to re-arrange itself. What was once impossible for him becomes easy. But his search is more rapid than its advance, and a time comes when he realizes that he is perilously near; and in wisdom he vows evermore to keep at so many feet or centimetres (according to his choice of units) from its nearest point. The nearer he habituates himself to approach, the oftener does he discover some obvious retreat of his line. Those who live far from it find that it can narrow its limits. Which things are an allegory, for this line is a closed curve and limits us in all directions, only one of which leads to rock-climbing.

Our walk along the foot of the Scawfell wall by the Rake’s Progress showed three breaks in the cliff after we left Steep Ghyll. The first marked Moss Ghyll, the second Keswick Brothers’ Climb, the third Collier’s Climb. The history of Moss Ghyll and its gradual yielding to the persistent attacks of active parties has been recorded in the first section. The news of its ascent came as a surprise to all who knew the place, so great a surprise that no room was left for wonderment when Dr. Collier a few months later proved the practicability of his route. But whereas Moss Ghyll became popular in a week by reason of the writing-up it immediately received, Collier’s Climb was almost untouched for three years. The unknown is always the most terrible, and the brief note in the Wastdale climbing book recording its first ascent left much to an anxious imagination. Queer tales were told round at the inn of men who were flung back over the Rake’s Progress after rising only ten feet. Even Dr. Collier was reported to have said he never wished to see the place again. Report was inaccurate, but that made no difference. I candidly admit that there seemed little chance of ever getting up such an awful wall. It was not till I found myself twenty feet up the crack that the attack seemed in the least degree hopeful.

It was just after Easter in 1896 (April 22), and my party had been climbing well on the Screes and in Deep Ghyll. The rocks were in marvellously good condition, perfectly dry and warm to the touch. G. and A. were with me, their last day before returning home. I thought it imprudent to take their votes, and announced that we were going to look at the first part of Collier’s Climb, and to ascertain where its difficulty lay. Fortunately they were both sanguine, and placed their heads and shoulders at my disposal as footholds. We made straight for the right spot in an hour and a half of easy going from Wastdale. There could be no possible doubt of the place. A thin crack rose direct from the Progress, overhanging for the first ten feet, then leaning back a trifle towards the left. A yard or two to the left of this a square corner led directly up so as to join the crack just below a thin chimney, that started some twenty feet above our heads. To get to this chimney was the difficulty. Either the cleft or the corner should be taken. Which was the easier?

I first tried the cleft, but it overhung so seriously that I dared not venture further. Equally futile was the attempt up the corner. Was it possible that we had mistaken the right take-off? To gain time and recover our spirits we walked over to the other side of Mickledore and prospected the climb. There could be no doubt that I had actually started on the correct way. Thirty feet up we could plainly distinguish a grassy platform that promised us temporary safety. If we could get as high as that we had Dr. Collier’s authority that the remainder of our chimney offered no such difficulties as those we had overcome. Even if it had, we could as a last resource fix an axe in the chimney and descend on a doubled rope in the usual Alpine fashion. In this manner, assuring ourselves that we had the worst immediately before us, we returned with some little courage to the attack. This time we decided to take the corner. A. was to stand on a small ledge about a foot above the Progress, and brace himself firmly enough to hold my weight. G. acted as a sort of flying buttress for his brother, and paid out my rope with extreme care. From A.’s shoulders I could just reach a high handhold with the left. But one grip at that height was useless, as the body had to be lifted up on to the rib of rock separating the two clefts. A. then padded his head with a handkerchief beneath his cap, and begged me to stand on it. However steady a young man may be, there are times when his friends think him weak in the head. Such a time was this, and I anxiously asked him if he could hold it perfectly still while I used it. ‘You may do anything except waltz on it,’ was the encouraging rejoinder, and I promptly placed my left foot on his parietal. ‘That’s all right,’ the tough young head called out, ‘you may stay there all day if you like.’ This was reassuring, but I had come out to climb and meant to move on. Yet for the life of me I could not see what to do next. The left foot required a lift before the high handhold could be employed, and there was nothing for it to rest against except the square corner of the recess. Two or three times I tried hard to grip the corner with the toe of my boot, but ineffectually. Then A., seeing my trouble, reached up a hand and held my boot on an infinitesimal ledge. It felt firm, and I trusted to it. With the first movement upwards my right hand felt a charmingly secure depression in the rib above, and swinging clear from A.’s head I dragged up on to the buttress and felt that the game was half won already. The rib was easy to ascend for a foot or two, till indeed it terminated at the small chimney above. But caution was the instinct uppermost in my mind, and the climb to the grassy platform above might, in spite of appearances, prove nasty. Casting around for some means of anchoring on my own rope, I saw that in the crack to my right a bunch of small stones were firmly jammed, and that daylight could be seen behind them down a hole that pointed through to the Progress, fifteen feet below. Here was a chance that, if we had known of it at first, might have been used to conserve our strength and nerve from the start. The others were as yet unroped. Calling to them to let go the rope, I drew up the free end by my teeth and my ‘unemployed’ hand, and let it fall straight down the hole to them. If a fall occurred now in trying the next few feet I could only tumble three or four yards, and should not pass over my friends’ heads and the Rake’s Progress. But the chimney into which a few moves brought me was of no high order of difficulty; the situation was certainly a trying one, for a downward gaze could only take in the rib of rock immediately below and the distant screes 200 feet beyond. I flung some loose stones far out into space, and could only just hear a faint clatter as they touched the scree. Now was the time to appreciate the joy of climbing, in perfect health, with perfect weather, and in a difficult place without danger, and I secretly laughed as I called to the others that the outlook was terribly bad and that our enterprise must be given up. But they also laughed, and told me to go higher and change my mind, for they knew by the tone that my temper was unruffled. A few feet more and I drew up to the platform. It was about a yard wide and three yards in length, reminding us strongly of the Tennis Court ledge, a similar formation half way up Moss Ghyll. Between the ledge and the wall rising above it a fissure cut down into the mountain. It still held some old winter snow, and its depths were cold as a refrigerator. Shouting to the others to rope up at a distance of thirty feet apart, I sat down on the grass with my legs dangling in the frigid fissure, bracing myself to stand any jerks that might be given to the rope by a sudden slip of the second man at the rounding of the rib. G. came up second, using his brother’s shoulders and head much as I had used them. When he reached the ledge he helped me to haul his brother. A. was unable to stand on his own head as we had done, though we reminded him of Dent’s famous climber’s dream, and he hung on to the rope with both hands while we pulled. It must have been rather an unpleasant sensation that of swinging away from the rocks, but he bore it like a philosopher, and caught cleverly on to the rib and so up to us. I am afraid our satisfaction was now somewhat premature, but we were certain of a safe descent whatever the remainder of our climb might involve. But there was no sign of failure in store. The chimneys above us looked steep, but they were deeply carved and therefore safe. Also, they cut obliquely up the vertical wall, and were not likely to involve any inch-by-inch wrestling against gravity. These surmises all proved correct, though we were astonished at the ease with which the remaining difficulties were overcome. It was now two o’clock in the afternoon, and we had been half an hour getting up the first thirty feet. The remainder only took us an equal time, though five times the height, and consisting of genuine rock-climbing all the way, as the following notes testify.

After a short lunch and a few minutes spent in erecting a diminutive cairn, we moved on. Dr. Collier had climbed into the upper part of the next chimney by a traverse of some difficulty from the right. I started the same course, but A. had descended a little to look up the direct route, and called out that it was safer, though perhaps awkward. Therefore we all descended and entered the chimney, which is practically a continuation of the crack up which our climb had started. It sloped slightly to the left, and offered just a sufficiency of holds, without demoralizing us with a superfluity. In fifteen feet its difficulties were over, and a few yards higher we reached another grassy ledge, more protected than the former but giving an equally grand view of the neighbouring precipices. There then followed a vertical pitch of twelve feet, simple enough with the help of a shoulder--or without it, for that matter--and an easy step from the top towards the right led to the beginning of the upward grassy traverse that so strikingly marks the break in the continuity of direction of Collier’s Climb. Many people have expressed doubts as to the safety of this traverse; on the other hand, these many have not all been there to see. The route is perfectly safe; there are corners on the Rake’s Progress that are intrinsically as hard, though perhaps the sublime situation may have its effect on some susceptible organisations. Possibly in wintry weather the traverse may have its difficulties, but if ever it were dangerous the first pitch would be impossible.

We found the first part of the final chimney slightly moist. Probably it is very rarely dry. As the diagram facing page 46 indicates, it slopes up towards the left and is very deeply cut. The first piece was practically a walk up a steep incline, using tiny ledges that were disposed along the slope in the most suitable places. It ended with a magnificent pull up with the arms over a projecting edge on the left.

Then came the pleasantest part of the whole, the negotiation of twenty-five feet of smooth, slabby rock by faith in friction and occasional reference to the overhanging side of the gully. Collier had rightly made special mention of this part, but to his account I should like to add that with dry rock and rough garments all will go well. Even a slip on the part of the leader will not be serious if he is carefully watched and fielded at the bottom of his slide.

At the finish of this exciting portion we saw the sky-line a few feet in front of us, and with a spurt we ran up and reached the summit breathless.

Since that time I have descended by the same route with a different party. We had just come up Moss Ghyll, and my two friends were well contented with their day’s work; for Moss Ghyll had been the limit of their ambition, and they were willing to rest contentedly on their laurels. To tackle Collier’s Climb had never entered their heads before--like the death-dealing pebble for poor Goliath--and they shyly suggested that we had climbed enough for one day. But with the sense of possession of a trump card up my sleeve--that handy rope-hold at the bottom pitch--I succeeded in rousing their enthusiasm sufficiently, and we started downwards. They were perfectly safe men to accompany; this had been proved in Moss Ghyll, and it was perhaps not so very wrong to indulge in a harmless exaggeration of the excitement that the finish had in store for them. But they climbed extremely well in spite of forebodings, and gratified me immensely by agreeing that for beauty of surroundings Collier’s Climb has no equal in all the gullies of the Lake District. The descent was rather easier than the ascent--a state of things so often experienced in difficult climbing work--and we reached the lowest grassy platform in half an hour. There we found the little cairn I had erected a few months before, and were cheered to see a couple of friends approaching from Mickledore to give us any aid necessary near the finish. I let down the first man by the rope; he went well till within ten feet of the Progress, and then, slipping away from the hold, was left for an uncomfortable moment dangling in mid-air. Lowered a yard or so his legs were seized by the men below and he was pulled to their level in safety. There he unroped, and thus also descended the second man. But he came on the middle of the rope, and before reaching the spot where he was destined to quit the rocks he was instructed to slip the lower end of the rope through the safety-hole. On reaching the Progress he also unroped, and with the united strength of the party holding me through the jammed stone I also was willing, when my turn came to let myself hang and be lowered gently down like a bale of goods into a ship’s hold.

To descend alone, without adventitious aid of this kind, it would be better to take to the crack.

KESWICK BROTHERS’ CLIMB.--This occupies a position between the two chief routes already described in this chapter, but chronologically it comes last, and on that account we find it best to treat of it after the others. The brothers Abraham and I had independently arrived at the conclusion that the Scawfell face offered a feasible route between Collier’s Climb and Moss Ghyll, of which only the lower half required any elaborate planning. In the summer of 1897, before I had a suitable opportunity of trying my fortune there, came the news that my two friends had succeeded with their design, considerable assistance having been given them by the preliminary scrambling of Mr. J. W. Puttrell at the lower end of the course.

On Christmas Day, 1897, I was one of a large party exploring the new route and its environs. An attempt to work directly up the long crack marked by the top _e_ in Plate II. was thwarted at a height of forty feet or so above the Rake’s Progress by the smoothness of the rocks, and by the presence of ice in the crack. It will probably go some day when conditions are more favourable. I managed to traverse to the edge of the buttress on my left, but the prospect round the corner was not a bit more attractive. A descent was therefore effected and the ordinary route tackled forthwith. It was interesting and remarkably safe. We started close to the foot of Collier’s Climb, and, working along a nearly horizontal cleft, arrived without trouble at the corner of the rectangular recess of which mention was made on page 30.

Thence we had a steep bit of edgework for thirty feet before the leader could ask his second to advance from the Progress. This part admits of a little variation, but the main fact to be grasped is that the long chimney in which Collier’s Climb finishes is retained close on our right for fully ten yards, until it suddenly narrows, and a grass platform extends away to the left with ample accommodation for a score of people. This platform, in fact, is part of the same grassy ledge that forms the first resting place after the troublesome introduction to Collier’s Climb; and since that date I have frequently taken friends up and down the latter course by this variation. The expedition is one that can be strongly recommended for moderately good parties, both for its beauty and its sustained interest throughout. That day, however, our course was ordered differently. We had first to follow the original line of ascent for fifteen feet up an awkward chimney with its best hold insecure. Then on reaching an upper grass corner there came an open movement across the face of rock to our right, working gradually upwards and aiming for a narrow cleft that partially separated a small pinnacle from the face. The view of this pinnacle from the middle of Collier’s Climb is simply exquisite, well worth showing to an enterprising camera.

From the pinnacle a slight descent gave an inspiring view downwards of the long smooth corner that I had unsuccessfully attacked a short time previously. At our level the crack had expanded into a respectable chimney, that could be easily entered twenty feet higher after a brief clamber on the buttress. It was disappointing to find then that something very like a scree gully, with only moderately interesting scrambling, was to finish our work in the great cleft. Rather than close the operations so quietly the majority voted for an attempt on the slightly-indicated branch exit thirty feet to the right; and their enterprise was rewarded by the conquest of a particularly neat pitch at the top.