With the late start the slabs were pretty busy by the time we rolled up, with one party on the first belay of our chosen route (Ordinary, Diff) and another waiting to start. We plonked ourselves at the foot of the route and started gearing up in a desultory manner, having lunch in the process. It was clearly going to be some time before we got going, so there was plenty of opportunity to make sure Bernard’s harness, improvised from a couple of slings, was as well-fitting as possible. Adrian knew the drills and the basics of rope handling, having climbed the In Pin with me last June. Bernard had climbed in the forces some 30 years previously and would know little or nothing of modern technique.

The party ahead consisted of leader, novice and a mentor soloing alongside the novice for the 45-metre first pitch. For a second pitch they had departed from the route across harder ground, leaving the mentor on a nut and sling at the belay. I decided to start, not knowing their intentions. I climbed past the mentor and was making myself safe when I was interrupted by the first of three abortive attempts to drop the rope to the mentor. Eventually he decided to solo up the conventional way, leaving me to bring up Bernard and then Adrian. Belay ledges on the slabs are of the bijou variety and with three of us it was distinctly cosy, with a real risk of getting hopelessly tangled up in the ropes.

The guide’s directions for the second pitch, another long one, seemed very complicated and I resolved just to follow the shiniest rock up the easiest way. This is how, 35 metres later, I came to be confronted with a 10-foot slab without any holds, and a severely-depleted rack of gear to try to protect it. Should I try to shimmy out onto the buttress on my left, which while no less steep had sheets of quartz on it to provide some purchase? Trouble is, there was no protection there at all; at least here there was a thin crack between the slab and the buttress. The crack ran down the side of the slab and was of a uniform 1½ inch width. Anything that went in just seemed to slide down and out of the bottom. Eventually a small hex was made to lodge itself low down. I studied the surface for any irregularities that might give some purchase, acutely aware of the shortcomings of my placement and of the 15 feet which lay between it and the previous one. For the first three feet or so there were some thin footholds. I climbed past the runner and it clinked as it shifted. Committed now, there was no point in looking down to see if it was coming out. The rest of the way it was a case of toe-jams and half hand-jams in the crack on my left and optimistic smearing against the smooth rock to the right. Gently, delicately, I worked my way up to a point where I could get a hand to the next ledge. No jugs, but there was at least the ledge. More delicate footwork, then a quick mantleshelf and I could afford the luxury of a short fit of the heebyjeebies. "How much rope?" I shouted down. "10 metres" came the response. Time to find a belay point. I wanted to put some psychologically important space between myself and the difficulty and worked my way easily up to a widening of the crack system I had climbed into. Another cramped ledge, but it would have to do. No good cracks or spikes for the belay, just a few shallow grooves. Then I remembered I was carrying 3 friends; the smallest would have protected the bad section below wonderfully and the other two were just fine for the belay. Should I go back down and do it properly? On balance, perhaps not.

I knew Bernard would struggle and went through the mechanics of an assisted hoist in my mind. In the event he didn’t need one but was dancing on 80 metres of air on a couple of occasions as his walking boots lost all purchase and I took his weight on the rope. By the time he reached the Ledge of the Heebyjeebies there was a definite pallor beneath his deep continental tan. Soon Adrian appeared at the bottom of the hard bit. "Oh," he said, "I did wonder what caused the delay. I understand now." With the confidence of a top-rope he climbed it cleanly. "That was no chuffin’ Diff." I said once we were all safe, "Felt more like severe. Where the hell are we?" We got out the book and decided we we five metres right of Ordinary Route, but our crack system would take us back to the final pitch of our route in one easy pitch. "When I saw you go that way I said to Adrian it was a very brave way." said Bernard. "It looked much easier to the left". We noticed the sky had clouded over and the air had a damp feel to it. The friendly banter between adjacent parties started to take on a more serious tone.

I was trying to get my second runner in on the third pitch. As I reached back for my set of 4-10 nuts I managed to snag the 1-7 set which detached itself from my harness and slid away down the crag to an intermediate ledge just below the first runner. I decided this wasn’t small nut terrain and climbed on. Adrian could collect them on his way up. I made safe and waved across to the bloke on belay duty on Tennis Shoe over to my right. "They say getting caught in the rain on a route can be a real test of character. The test is whether you cry over the expensive gear you leave behind when you ab off." "It would be bloody expensive with three pitches to ab down," he replied,"but I’ll not get too upset since it’s not my gear." We were at the bottom of the last pitch. The description in the guide tallied with the rock as we were seeing it, through the rain. There were a few problems with the leftward traverse and I later learned that one of the runners had pulled, but we all of us pretty well romped up it, as did the party on the last pitch of Tennis Shoe.

Ropes coiled, we scrambled towards where we had seen an earlier party disappear. "Do you know the way down?" from Tennis Shoe. "I was about to ask you." I answered. "The last lot went thissaway." We followed shiny rock and the occasional path upwards and to the side of the slabs. Eventually this gave way to a 50-foot downclimb of at least Moderate standard, with one stomach-churning sequence as one after another we lowered ourselves, facing the rock, onto an unseen foothold uncertain of whether there was a safe way off it. The party behind us were even prepared to use a large block as an abseil point, but seeing us manage were encouraged to climb down. We got back to our packs and Adrian went ahead to meet the others at the cars (we were 30-45 minutes late) while Bernard and I stowed the gear before joining the rest, soggy but somewhat elated still.