Winter Ice Climbing Smiths Gully, Creag Meagaidh

As soon as I hopped in my friend Steve’s car on Friday, he turned to me and said, “We’re picking Joe up”. Joe has a notoriously full diary, and to arrange anything with him, you have to submit it in triplicate at least six months in advance. He’d clearly seen the weather forecast and the condition reports for the weekend and cleared his diary. Things were looking good.

The Highlands were buried in snow, but there had been a slow thaw all week and a sudden cold snap rolling in from the east. It was about to get very icy very quickly.

It was to be another day out on Creag Meagaidh, the ice palace. I’d been out earlier in the season and climbed The Pumpkin with my good friend Matt. Whilst up in the inner coire I had eyed another line called The Wand. A steep slab high up on the crag that offers one incredible 60m pitch of steep ice that, in fat conditions, grows ice cauliflowers and mushrooms. Perhaps the most spectacular ice pitch in Scotland when it forms.

However, I’m in this game for the climbing, and I’m loath to walk further than I have to. The proposition of walking for nearly three hours for a single pitch seemed like a poor deal, so we ruled that out.

We had seen that Smith’s Gully was in condition up off Raeburn’s Gully. A fantastic runnel of ice that provides several sustained pitches. The only issue was that neither Steve nor I had led grade VI before, and it had been a few years for Joe. Joe and I had just returned from a week’s ice climbing in Italy, though and were feeling very confident on ice, so we locked in our decision.

When the first pitch was free, Joe set off and brought us up the first two pitches to a sheltered belay. The climbing was wonderful. Steep ice constricted between rock walls and around bulges and corners. Back and forth, bridging, or tackling it head-on. Magnificent.

At the third belay, the wind arrived. It didn’t blow into us but instead over the cliff, stripping loose snow from the plateau and pouring it down the gully. Spindrift filled every gap in our clothes and our faces. We laughed at the teams ahead struggling through it.

Then I realised I was about to lead.

As I brought the ropes up, Steve emerged first. He looked feral. Snow sat in every crease of his face. Joe followed, looking much the same. They’d put on goggles early. Steve had abandoned his lead due to a lack of peripheral vision. Joe’s goggles fell apart mid-pitch, leaving him blind either way.

We swapped leads again, and Steve took the final difficulties. I was congratulated not for the technical grade but for climbing blind.

Steve cruised the final steep ice and snow and topped us out onto the plateau.