I let some rope out and Joe made an attempt at reaching a section of cornice to our left, which looked, at least from our perspective, smaller than the rest. By this time a thick layer of unconsolidated snow had formed, and no matter how hard he tried, Joe couldn’t reach the cornice, the snow falling away beneath his feet as he tried unsuccessfully to advance. After a great deal of floundering, and the expenditure of a great deal of energy, he gave up on this option, and we looked around for other possible exits; Joe decided to try his luck on an imposing piece of cornice directly above us. While I was sitting there, half buried in snow, it had dawned on me that we were now sitting in a notorious avalanche funnel in exactly the right conditions for such an event to occur; escape was now a priority.
Delicately, Joe kicked himself some steps in the unstable snow of the cornice and began the work of hacking a passage through. His stance was precarious; occasionally he wobbled, and was forced to secure himself with his axe, but for the most part seemed fine. I don’t know how long I had been sitting there when Joe finally lost his footing and fell. With a sharp intake of breath, he tumbled at first before falling into a slide and coming to rest somewhere to my left. This seemed like a good time to swap roles, and I took my place on the cornice face. With a little difficulty I managed to get my crampon points to take hold, and with a few swings of the axe, managed to get it to bury it deep enough to hold me securely. Then with my left arm, I punched, pressed, pushed and pulled at the snow around me, until I had made a slot just big enough to squeeze through.
Beardy weirdy
Breathlessly, I swung my axe in an ark in an attempt to gain hold beyond the slot; once, twice, again and again, but repeatedly failed to find sufficient ice to hold me. Eventually my pick caught against something buried deep under the snow, and so taking the axe in both hands I hauled myself through the slot, kicking at the air as my crampons failed bite against the cornice wall. Although cold, the gully had protected us from the prevailing wind, and as I pulled myself onto The Ben’s plateau I was instantly met by the storm, tyrannous and strong. Eager to get Joe out of the gully I hastily threw a belay together, using my axe as an anchor and lying as low as possible to shield my body from the prevailing wind. I shouted, and after a few long minutes Joe wriggled ungraciously through the slot, a big grin upon his face.
Cold and hungry, the storm enveloped us, and our once dexterous hands struggled clumsily against the zips and toggles of our hastily thrown on layers. Our bid for the summit had just become a very unattractive prospect, and so without hesitation, we decided to abandon our best laid plans and quit the mountain as quickly as the conditions would allow us. We travelled through this land of mist and snow on a bearing for the Red Burn, spindrift burning our exposed flesh and freezing to our goggles; and as two spent swimmers that do cling together, we departed Ben Nevis leaving the storm behind us.
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