938m. No description has been contributed for this climb.

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jtam 20 Aug, 2021 Show βeta
βeta: What an epic. Britain's longest rock climb - Sgurr Dubh Mor (3100ft) and the slabs - in the bag. After catching the boat from Elgol at 11am, critically too late it would turn out, we arrived at the remote Loch Coruisk around 12pm. The trip over passes towering cliffs and mountains, with high walls often punctuated by inviting inlets and calm waters. Pinnicles compete with dancing wisps of cloud, some delicate and silk like and others ominous and marauding. This is a wild place of incalculable beauty. Our walk in to the slabs took us over burns (streams), the obligatory bogs and the first in what would be a spectacular series of slab rock formations. Within an hour we had arrived at the start of the slab system and located a good access point to begin the climb. Technically, this is not a difficult climb. The friction is superb and the slabs run at about 30 degrees, making a rope free ascent fairly straightforward. After feeling uncomfortable with the exposure and starting out with Scarpa boots and old approach shoes we changed tact and quickly got on our rock shoes. The first 25m of the route takes a little working out and the risk of falling onto a poor landing was too great a risk. With a helmet and harness on, if needed, and plenty of grip under our feet we made light work of the route and reached the first summit of Sgurr Dubh Beag (2400ft) within a couple of hours. From here a 22m overhanging abseil is required on solid anchors in order to continue the climb up to the Monroe. It took us another hour to summit having drifted left of the peak where we were confronted with a spicy boulder problem. With clunky hiking boots on - we'd changed once the slabs were done due to aching toes and easier ground - and a decent sized pack affecting my balance, a committing series of moves in a precariously exposed position was not what I wanted at that point. Throw in some fatigue and absence of protection and you might begin to imagine what my Garmin was revealing about my heart rate. I soloed the section first with some considerable effort and a few choice expletives before watching anxiously as Adam came up shortly after. The summit was quickly within reach and at 5.30pm we sat and drank Kentucky bourbon perched high up in the Cullen Mountains feeling like champions. What a spectacular climb. At this point things changed. We "assumed' the descent gully was just below the main peak and it would be a relatively straightforward walk back to the valley floor where we planned to walk back around the coast to where one of the vehicles had been strategically left. The last boat had long gone but we were relatively calm about this. Fresh springs were abundant and we had supplies. Assumptions are often said to be the source of the mother of all f ups. It quickly became clear we descended too quickly and immediately became embroiled in a hideous downclimb on scree and choss (crappy loose rock). Steep drop offs frequently halted our stuttering descent and contrived to turn us into counters in some kind of twisted game of snakes and ladders. We weren't keen on playing. After three and half hours we finally made it back to Loch Coruisk, tired and weary from an already long day. My pack weight had taken its toll on my right shoulder while my knees screamed from the abuse they'd received while bracing down 3000ft of relentless compound moves, often on unstable rock. By this time light was fading fast behind the Cullen Ridge and we knew a potentially long and tricky hike awaited us. During the boat ride over the captain had pointed out a particularly tricky section of the coast 'path' that required careful balance and some technique. It was consequential. A 30ft + drop into shallow water promised broken legs which would be far from ideal in a remote part of Skye with no phone signal nor any roads for several hours. Adam rightly pushed us on even though I craved an extended rest and some nourishment. It had been a beautiful and warm day and I'd neglected water and suncream in my hunger to make good progress on the climb. I was paying for it now. My throat burned and I felt unsteady on my feet. The muscles in the middle of my back felt horribly contracted and all enjoyment for the route had evaporated. Sure enough the tricky and exposed step over on the coast path lived up to its billing. It was a f####. Adam met it first and grimaced. In my blind haste to catch the morning boat I had forgotten to pack my head torch, a catastrophic mistake in this kind of environment. This lack of preparation was a theme for the day and also explained my unnecessarily heavy pack weight which was now torturing my back and shoulders. Fortunately, Adam did have his head lamp and slowly lead the way across the precariously marked path that guided us around the coast and away from Loch Coruisk. Progress was crushingly slow. The path was little more than a vague clearing which frequently disappeared, much to our fury, only to reappear again in some impossible location above our heads. Much of this section was completed in complete darkness. Wild deer often appeared in the gloom as the path meandered and stuttered around the headland. Approaching midnight we finally made it to an old track in Camasunary where long abandoned buildings lay quietly. In a day that continued to throw curve balls our way we were forced to cross a shallow river in order to pick up the now ascending track. Shoes and socks were removed from aching feet and we cursed and wobbled our way across the burn, Adam with his lamp and me in darkness. I screamed at various boulders which seemed almost contrived to be angled in such a way to cause the most amount of agony possible to my bruised and blistered feet. Once we crossed the river I laid down, sipped whisky and contemplated rolling over into an uneasy sleep. Adam, the steady voice of reason, pushed us on and even graciously relieved me of some weight by taking the rope and metal work. In silence with our heads bowed low we plodded on at snail pace. Occasionally I stumbled and mumbled something inaudible and unpleasant. At 1.30am we arrived back at Adam's van. I don't think I have ever been so grateful to see a motorised vehicle in my life. We collapsed into the cabin and drove the insultingly few miles back around the coast to where my car was left. Upon being reunited with both our cars we returned to our previous wild camp spot. Miraculously, Adam was able to prepare a meal. We ate greedily before I limped back to my own car and without even considering erecting my tent I simply reclined my driver's seat and buried my head under a sleeping bag. The day was done. Type two fun at its finest. I can't wait for the next adventure.
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βeta: What an epic. Britain's longest rock climb - Sgurr Dubh Mor (3100ft) and the slabs - in the bag. After catching the boat from Elgol at 11am, critically too late it would turn out, we arrived at the remote Loch Coruisk around 12pm. The trip over passes towering cliffs and mountains, with high walls often punctuated by inviting inlets and calm waters. Pinnicles compete with dancing wisps of cloud, some delicate and silk like and others ominous and marauding. This is a wild place of incalculable beauty. Our walk in to the slabs took us over burns (streams), the obligatory bogs and the first in what would be a spectacular series of slab rock formations. Within an hour we had arrived at the start of the slab system and located a good access point to begin the climb. Technically, this is not a difficult climb. The friction is superb and the slabs run at about 30 degrees, making a rope free ascent fairly straightforward. After feeling uncomfortable with the exposure and starting out with Scarpa boots and old approach shoes we changed tact and quickly got on our rock shoes. The first 25m of the route takes a little working out and the risk of falling onto a poor landing was too great a risk. With a helmet and harness on, if needed, and plenty of grip under our feet we made light work of the route and reached the first summit of Sgurr Dubh Beag (2400ft) within a couple of hours. From here a 22m overhanging abseil is required on solid anchors in order to continue the climb up to the Monroe. It took us another hour to summit having drifted left of the peak where we were confronted with a spicy boulder problem. With clunky hiking boots on - we'd changed once the slabs were done due to aching toes and easier ground - and a decent sized pack affecting my balance, a committing series of moves in a precariously exposed position was not what I wanted at that point. Throw in some fatigue and absence of protection and you might begin to imagine what my Garmin was revealing about my heart rate. I soloed the section first with some considerable effort and a few choice expletives before watching anxiously as Adam came up shortly after. The summit was quickly within reach and at 5.30pm we sat and drank Kentucky bourbon perched high up in the Cullen Mountains feeling like champions. What a spectacular climb. At this point things changed. We "assumed' the descent gully was just below the main peak and it would be a relatively straightforward walk back to the valley floor where we planned to walk back around the coast to where one of the vehicles had been strategically left. The last boat had long gone but we were relatively calm about this. Fresh springs were abundant and we had supplies. Assumptions are often said to be the source of the mother of all f ups. It quickly became clear we descended too quickly and immediately became embroiled in a hideous downclimb on scree and choss (crappy loose rock). Steep drop offs frequently halted our stuttering descent and contrived to turn us into counters in some kind of twisted game of snakes and ladders. We weren't keen on playing. After three and half hours we finally made it back to Loch Coruisk, tired and weary from an already long day. My pack weight had taken its toll on my right shoulder while my knees screamed from the abuse they'd received while bracing down 3000ft of relentless compound moves, often on unstable rock. By this time light was fading fast behind the Cullen Ridge and we knew a potentially long and tricky hike awaited us. During the boat ride over the captain had pointed out a particularly tricky section of the coast 'path' that required careful balance and some technique. It was consequential. A 30ft + drop into shallow water promised broken legs which would be far from ideal in a remote part of Skye with no phone signal nor any roads for several hours. Adam rightly pushed us on even though I craved an extended rest and some nourishment. It had been a beautiful and warm day and I'd neglected water and suncream in my hunger to make good progress on the climb. I was paying for it now. My throat burned and I felt unsteady on my feet. The muscles in the middle of my back felt horribly contracted and all enjoyment for the route had evaporated. Sure enough the tricky and exposed step over on the coast path lived up to its billing. It was a f####. Adam met it first and grimaced. In my blind haste to catch the morning boat I had forgotten to pack my head torch, a catastrophic mistake in this kind of environment. This lack of preparation was a theme for the day and also explained my unnecessarily heavy pack weight which was now torturing my back and shoulders. Fortunately, Adam did have his head lamp and slowly lead the way across the precariously marked path that guided us around the coast and away from Loch Coruisk. Progress was crushingly slow. The path was little more than a vague clearing which frequently disappeared, much to our fury, only to reappear again in some impossible location above our heads. Much of this section was completed in complete darkness. Wild deer often appeared in the gloom as the path meandered and stuttered around the headland. Approaching midnight we finally made it to an old track in Camasunary where long abandoned buildings lay quietly. In a day that continued to throw curve balls our way we were forced to cross a shallow river in order to pick up the now ascending track. Shoes and socks were removed from aching feet and we cursed and wobbled our way across the burn, Adam with his lamp and me in darkness. I screamed at various boulders which seemed almost contrived to be angled in such a way to cause the most amount of agony possible to my bruised and blistered feet. Once we crossed the river I laid down, sipped whisky and contemplated rolling over into an uneasy sleep. Adam, the steady voice of reason, pushed us on and even graciously relieved me of some weight by taking the rope and metal work. In silence with our heads bowed low we plodded on at snail pace. Occasionally I stumbled and mumbled something inaudible and unpleasant. At 1.30am we arrived back at Adam's van. I don't think I have ever been so grateful to see a motorised vehicle in my life. We collapsed into the cabin and drove the insultingly few miles back around the coast to where my car was left. Upon being reunited with both our cars we returned to our previous wild camp spot. Miraculously, Adam was able to prepare a meal. We ate greedily before I limped back to my own car and without even considering erecting my tent I simply reclined my driver's seat and buried my head under a sleeping bag. The day was done. Type two fun at its finest. I can't wait for the next adventure.

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