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It was the last Saturday in July, the weather had been warm and sunny on the Friday and the BBC had forecast a heatwave at the weekend.

The sky was a brilliant blue when a smiling Ian McCabe drove up on the stroke of half past seven. I had my rucksack and boots waiting on the kerbside by the time he had turned the car. Inspired by an article in “Climber” we were on our way to Glencoe. Sounds too good to be true? Read on.

By the time we reached the Drip Road a few wisps of cirrus clouds drifted high in the sky. “A front coming in in the next twelve to twenty four hours” we reassured each other. A few more clouds appeared as we drove up Loch Lubnaig and as we climbed Glen Ogle we noticed that some of the approaching cars had headlights switched on. “It’s only foreign drivers and it always rains in Crianlarich” we consoled ourselves. The corners of McCabe’s mouth were dropping faster than the barometer as he reluctantly switched on the heater. It became increasingly darker as we crossed Rannoch Moor. “The big pointy mountain has disappeared!” exclaimed Ian. Only a stump remained to be seen.

At about quarter past nine Ian squeezed his car into what appeared to be the last available parking space in the “carpark” at Altnafeadh, although doubtless dozens of other cars would later be abandoned in more dubious sites, and we delved into the bottoms of rucksacks for jackets that we had brought along “ just in case”.

Just after the paths diverged we were overtaken by a group of younger, more enthusiastic climbers. At least most seemed to be younger; one may have been older but he looked fitter and more enthusiastic than myself. We caught up with them again as they stopped for a rest where the path crosses the burn coming out of Great Gully. The older one asked about our plans and I said that we had intended to try some of the Great Gully Buttress routes or Ravens Edge but a lot the rock we could see was wet and there was no reason for it to be dry further up. He suggested that the East Face of the North Buttress might be less busy than Rannoch Wall. I knew that Ian was keen to do Hangman’s Crack and so I said that we might see them up there. It transpired that the reason for their enthusiasm was that they had just spent a week in Skye and that the weather had been even worse there.

When we arrived at the foot of the climbs the other parties were gearing up. Despite having been there before and reading the guidebook I was surprised at how close together the routes were. Two ropes were about to do Shackle. The older climber and his partner had booked Crows Nest Crack, which would have been our preferred climb on the lower tier, and so we opted for Shattered Crack between the two. As we were getting ready another two people came across from the region of Curved Ridge and enquired whether we intended to climb Agag’s Groove or January Jigsaw. We pointed out that they were at the wrong cliff and deduced that Rannoch Wall was deserted and they had been attracted by the group of people.

As Ian climbed the first pitch, I was struck by the ridiculousness of the situation. There we were on a huge mountain and eight people were occupying as small an area as we would have on a crag or climbing wall. For a time it looked like a race (a slow race) between Ian, the second on Shackle and the leader on Crow’s Nest Crack. Could this be a new television sport? – every bit as exciting as darts or cricket. Ian forged ahead until forced to belay. The length of the route was given as fifty metres and Ian’s rope is short of fifty metres due to an incident in Auchinstarry Quarry. The guidebook suggested stopping at a poor belay below an overlap or traversing left into the sentry box on Shackle. Ian opted to belay slightly right of the route to allow me to climb through. By the time I joined him, he had decided, perhaps influenced by my shaky progress, that he did not like his semi-hanging belay, and so I traversed left into the recently vacated Sentry Box to obtain a more secure belay. By now the leader of the second team on Shackle was approaching and so as not to inconvenience them too much I attached a long sling to a secure belay in the Sentry box and brought Ian across to the central bay where he set up a more secure stance. (If you are not following all this it doesn’t matter. Suffice to say we faffed about for a long time on the changeover.)

Having stopped for so long, the overlap above Ian had now grown to become an enormous roof and after a tentative effort. I moved further right to look at the line below which Ian had originally belayed. This looked even worse and so I came back and having now obtained some momentum tackled the overhang straight on and it went in the way that the guide book said “a few careful moves on small holds.”- Piece of duff really. Phew!

“Steep pleasant climbing then leads to Green Gully”- Fair enough, and I reckon the whole climb could all have been done on forty five metres of rope.

I could now relax while Ian tackled Hangman’s Crack- “a cleancut, steep and very obvious corner”. Both walls looked reasonably dry from below although the crack in the corner was obviously wet. The crux is very low on the climb and described in all the guide books as a mantelshelf on the right wall. Ian did not find it on his previous attempt and again we could not see a move like that this time. He moved back into the corner and placed a psychological runner and then back on to the right wall. Several times he went up and down and in the process placed another couple of dubious runners, lower than the first, in the belief that three useless pieces of protection would be more effective than one. The problem resolved itself into stepping from good holds on to a very small hold and trusting that to reach the next set of holds. Several times he lifted his foot and then hesitated until he declared that it was not justifiable and then promptly did it. He then reached across and placed a friend in the crack and then I knew he was committed. Ian had crossed his Rubicon or maybe not quite, as he was still about to get his hands and feet wet. Although the hardest piece of climbing was done he had become more dependent on holds in the corner and the walls close to the corner were not as dry as they had appeared from below – a bold lead. When I followed I was very aware that my feet might slip off at any time and I was grateful for the security afforded by the ropes above me. Sometimes I think the Almighty is very kind to desperate climbers. In this instance He had furnished the corner crack with a kind of internal lip around which it was possible to curl the fingers and obtain an outward pull without jamming. On escaping the crack it felt really good to be moving easily again on rough dry rock.

It only remained to coil up the ropes and hobble down the North Buttress. Thankfully we found no traces of viscera or bodily fluids from winter ascents (see Ochils Mountaineer Issue 54) and were soon re-united with our sacks and boots.

After a brief refreshment stop at the Kingshouse we drove down the road, well pleased with our day, until brought up short by a queue of traffic beside Loch Lubnaig. It transpired that a car coming north had gone out of control and turned upside down. We were held up for about an hour while the occupants were being freed, giving a lot of time for contemplation of “Life the Universe and Everything”. The closing sentences of Whymper’s “Scrambles Amongst The Alps” were brought to mind (or at least the gist of the quotation was brought to mind. I have looked up the rest since.)

“Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are naught without prudence and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end.”

The next Sunday saw us abseiling off the first pitch of King Bee in the wet.