Ramblings
Saunterings
Ramblings: about North-West England
Ramblings is a set of articles about North-West England, of unknown authorship and
indeterminate date, believed to have been written for amusement on rainy days,
which are not unknown in North-West England.
25. One Fell Swoop
This extract from the recently-published memoirs of the celebrated
Cumbrian climber Stanley J. Accrington describes the first solo ascent of
Helvellyn by the western arête (well, the first solo ascent by Stanley J.
Accrington anyway).
I slept intermittently. Visions of the impending peril infiltrated
my unconscious. I looked at my watch. 3.48! In the morning.
With that fortitude for which British mountaineers are renowned, I
forced myself to lie slumbering in bed for a few more hours until I
sensed the aroma of sizzling bacon.
Outside, the wind raged ferociously. I would need every item
of warm clothing that I had, plus any I could purloin. I carefully
calculated the minimum provisions required for the expedition:
mint cake, energy bars, a tin of apricots, lemon juice, water, plus a
small bottle of spumante, just in case fortune should enable me to
celebrate reaching the summit.
Breakfast over and the necessary ablutions performed, I braved the
wind which was still blowing hard. Delay would only reduce the
hours of daylight available. Leaving base camp I tramped slowly
up the long lower slopes to reach the great ‘hole-in-the-wall’ by
midday. Here were scattered the remains of previous expeditions,
with echoes of earlier failures adding an air of desolation. But it
provided a wonderful prospect of the fearsome arête ahead.
I continued on up the ridge, taking it slowly and steadily,
because of my great burden and the reduced oxygen. I appreciated
the mountaineers’ whimsy in calling this arête Striding Edge, for
striding is one thing you cannot do upon it.
I was beginning to tire and looked around for a suitable lunch-time ledge,
but there was none. Somewhat desperate, I traversed
across the steep slope on the sheltered side to find eventually a
relatively flat spot overlooking Red Tarn far below.
Well satisfied with lunch and the height already gained, I
pressed on. Vertiginous slopes plunged down on both sides of
the knife edge, slopes down which, sadly, many less competent
mountaineers have also plunged.
The altitude and wind took my breath away, the latter
occasionally upsetting my balance and my morale. After some
determined scrambling, I reached an awkward rock chimney,
beyond which I could see the arête rising yet more steeply.
As all responsible mountaineers must do from time to time,
I considered the advisability of carrying on. It is unwise to
mountaineer alone and on those occasions when I cannot avoid it
I invent a companion, whom I call YetI. As a team, I and YetI can
climb higher and yet-higher. YetI is an extension of myself: wise,
brave, athletic, charming, and with all his own teeth - like myself,
only more so. The ideal companion.
I asked YetI about the wisdom of continuing and he replied, as
he always did, “Just as you wish”. I decided to go on.
I focussed my attention on the rock chimney, the notorious
step that often made the difference between success and failure.
No doubt, it would be a minor problem to expert rock climbers on
Everest but here it was a
barrier that needed all my
considerable strength and
will-power to overcome.
With fervent prayers
that the rocks I grappled
with would stay attached
to the mountain, I inched
myself along, finally
dragging myself onto a
ledge, where I lay for a
while regaining my breath
and composure.
But now the challenge
of the steeper slope became
apparent. At first glance
it was impressive and
rather frightening, even to
a man of my self-effacing
courage. We checked our
provisions, our bearing,
and our sanity and, finding
all sufficiently in order,
carried on. The ridge was narrow and difficult, made even more so
by the many mountaineers passing in the opposite direction.
At this point, I have a suggestion for the authorities. You
should not allow so many inexperienced mountaineers to wander
about at will. Insist that they ascend this arête only on odd days of
the month and descend it only on even days, and obviously vice
versa for other arêtes. Problem solved. I often find that I have
solved many of life’s major problems during expeditions such as
this.
We climbed slowly, but safely, which was the main
consideration. Steep rock slopes arose ahead of us. It was tempting
to seek an easier way to the side, but that way disaster lay.
Time was passing and the cliff seemed never-ending. Our
original energy had long gone and it was now a grim struggle.
We rested every fifteen minutes to regain our breath and a little
vigour.
And then suddenly there was grey sky rather than black rock
ahead. We had reached the end of the arête, and there, curving
to the right, was a more gentle slope leading to the summit, our
Shangri-la (Editor: isn’t that a valley?).
Finding extra reserves of energy, we staggered to the top. My
initial feelings were of relief, rather than triumph.
But then the realisation of what we had achieved sunk in.
Somehow, I shook YetI’s hand vigorously and slapped him on the
back. We sipped the spumante.
I surveyed all around, to the great peaks surrounding us and
down into the far-off valleys, where dull people were going about
their dull routines. I couldn’t wait to get back to impress them with
the life-enhancing insights gained on an expedition such as this.
I asked YetI if he was ready to descend. “Just as you wish” he
said.
Photos:
Stanley J. Accrington in his prime, on Scafell Pinnacle.
Helvellyn’s western arête.
Comments:
• Mr Accrington is surely mistaken with that photograph.
It looks more like Everest than Helvellyn.
• Perhaps he was distracted to think of Everest
by the fact that Sherpa Tensing, who held Edmund Hillary’s hand to the top
in 1953, also used to say “Just as you wish” when asked for his
opinion.
Ramblings
Saunterings
© John Self, Drakkar Press, 2024-
Top photo: Rainbow over Kisdon in Swaledale;
Bottom photo: Ullswater