Scotland

We're going to fucking smash it this trip. Do all the classics. Talisker, Jura, Glenlivet, Old Pultney. The list is massive but we're all mega psyched. Months of hard training behind us. Also, there's a few bits of climbing gear chucked in the boot as well, but sod that for a game of soldiers. Scottish winter climbing is bloody miserable. I don't really like it. Cold, painful, and no one's bothered to put any bolts in the crags. But I guess we'll have to if we get bad whisky conditions one day...

Long drive overnight. Three ill-prepared southern pansies crammed into a Ford Focus with dozens of bags filled with gear, and enough pasta to feed Italy for a week. Staples and I drive, getting no sleep whatsoever. We arrive in Aviemore in the morning exhausted to the point of hallucination. The road up to the ski station is closed - thank fuck for that. Gives us the perfect excuse to sack the days climbing, catch up on sleep, and drink whisky instead.

Typical scene from one of our 'climbing' trips

Off to the pub. Just a couple though. Big day tomorrow. Much, much later we're all blind drunk and buying rounds for the local folk band. Slapping the table along to a load of old songs about what a bunch of cunts the English are. Eventually we stagger off into the freezing night to sleep in the car. Morning comes with a crippling hangover. Ice everywhere. There's a big pile of sick next to Cam's bivy. I've seen roadkill that looks healthier than he does right now. Slogging through drifts of powder and pine forests towards the crag. I can hear the wind howling through the mountains higher up. Every few steps Cam stops to throw up more of his internal organs. 

We lurch our way up the mountain like zombies. Has a team ever been less ready to go winter climbing? I move in crampons with all the grace of a drunk on a bouncy castle.

Sneachda in rare good weather

So we just about manage something in Coire Sneachda. A hurricane blasts across the Cairngorm plateau. Icicles form in my beard. So much suffering for a couple of pitches of climbing. However the weather forecast is looking good, so we decide to head over to Skye to have a play in the Cuillins. Pat arrives, having done the whole drive up on his tod. We immediately ask him to drive us to the nearest pub. Evening stroll towards Sgurr nan Gillean. It's a beautiful clear night so we decide to bivy beneath the mountain.

Looking up at the peak from near the bivy spot

This seems a great idea for about ten minutes, then we just lie there in the darkness freezing our tits off. It's so cold we get going before dawn, and wander up the initial slopes to a shoulder. From here we improvise a way up the peak, soloing up neve slopes with the occasional steep ice pitch. Soloing on shit ice with the massive drop snapping beneath our heels, what joy.

Sgurr nan Gillean on the left. I have no idea what we climbed

Eventually we top out on a ridge but it's blowing a hoolie, visibility is rubbish, and we have absolutely no idea where we are. So we make a series of abseils from the pinnacle until we can escape down an easy snow slope. It's not really a proper route, but a fun little adventure, and we name it Cucumber West - after the time honoured navigational tradition that if you throw a cucumber at a sheep it will always run to the west. That's a stonewall fucking fact that is.

The slopes we descended, ridge in the background. Still no idea what's going on

Back to the Cairngorms. We spend a day soloing gullies in Coire Sneachda. It takes us about 15 minutes to climb a route that would take hours if you were using ropes. The soloing bug that I picked up on my last Alps trip is worming deeper and deeper into my brain.

Soloing Spiral Gully

Digging snow pits in Sneachda

The next day Pat and I climb the mega classic Fingers Ridge. I've wanted to do this one for years, and it's fucking brilliant. Quick jolly up snow then three awesome mixed pitches, up steep blocky ground, chimneys, corners, there's even the odd bit of gear. I lead up the exposed ridge crest towards the famous finger pinnacles, utterly appalled when I realise you have to do a no hands bridge between the bastard things. I sort of fall onto the left one, sobbing hysterically as my axes skate ineffectively off brittle rime ice. This dumps me at the foot of a completely plastered slab, the crux of the whole route, and it's fucking desperate. I spent long minutes balancing on tiny edges on my front points, hacking away at the ice to find the next placements. A series of one hand one foot rock overs finally spits me out onto the top of the slab, bellyflopping onto a ledge like fat person struggling out of a swimming pool, and from there an easy wander leads to the top.

You can see the fingers poking up on the right skyline

We've got time for one more big one, so it's south towards Glencoe. But on the way we catch sight of the massive north face of Ben Nevis, looming above everything, perfect blue skies, and it's just irresistible. We stop in Fort Bill instead, arsehole of the north west, and get ready. There's a bad vibe about the Ben this year, climbers still missing somewhere on its flanks, and we're all shitting ourselves in the car park. Except Staples, who is sitting this one out with a bad ankle, and will instead spend the time wanking in the car and hopelessly chasing local girls on Tinder. Midnight comes, no sleep, and we begin the 2 hour trudge up to the CIC hut. Here we sort out our gear and jolly up a gully to the Douglas Gap. A fun pitch leads us onto the crest of the ridge, then we take the rope off again and solo off into the night. It's calm and clear and the snow conditions are perfect.

Tower Ridge is the obvious buttress in the Center of the face

Soloing up easy terrain

We briefly rope up for a tricky step on the Little Tower, soloing everything else by torchlight, climbing mixed ground and icy runnels between the rock. Soon enough we reach the Eastern Traverse. This is meant to be one of the cruxes of the route so we decide to pitch it. Unnecessarily, it turns out, as it's nothing more than an exposed shuffle along a boot-wide ledge of snow. Piss easy. We're across in minutes, and then I take over the lead, racing up the Great Tower to gain the crest once more. Now comes the final obstacle - Tower Gap. A notch cut into the ridge, guarding access to the easy finishing slopes. So Cam leads into it, brings me over, then I lead out the other side. Pat follows after and we're done. It's exposed and a bit precarious, but easy enough in the current conditions. A final glory romp up more perfect snow and we're on top. The whole route takes us maybe 5 hours. By doing Tower Ridge mostly at night we avoid the queues it is otherwise notorious for.

The belay at the top of the Great Tower

The sun rises over the summit of Ben Nevis

We plod over to the summit trig point, amazed by the lack of wind. Snow covered mountains lay before us for miles and miles in every direction. One of those rare perfect days that makes Scottish winter climbing so incredible. We decide to traverse the Carn Mor Dearg Arête to finish the day off in style, watching in smug satisfaction as climbers swarm over the ridge like ants, bottlenecks everywhere. Serves the lazy sods right. We're back at the car eleven and a half hours after leaving.

Arriving on top after my best route in Scotland yet

At the summit trig point

Back down in Fort Bill we catch up with Captain Pissytrousers and head over to Glencoe and the Clachaig Inn. Here we drink more fine whisky and celebrate an awesome Highlands road trip. Good times.

Tugger, the Glorious Leader, Captain Pissytrousers and Offwidth Dangle-Prussik outside the Clachaig, job done