Our party picking their way up the gully to the start of the route, after an awkward "walk-in" (down-climb!) from the col above the reservoir. Some of us had stashed sacks at the col, others (including me) carried everything down to the start, unsure of what we'd need, and then up the climb, to save having to descend the mountain in rock boots or do the down-climb again to retrieve redundant gear.

Guess who carried most of it : I later worked out that I'd hauled about 13kg up damn' thing.

Apart from an awkward squeeze round a block right near the start, where my rucksack got stuck and I had to retreat temporarily, the only really tricky passage was at the crux, where the route moves right onto the outside of the ridge, with a spectacularly exposed couple of moves on highly polished rock. Luckily, it was Blofeld's lead on that pitch.

"It's always a good feeling to stand, in control, with a large drop directly beneath your heels and you get a good opportunity to do it here. If that's your thing. This is one of the reasons I love mountain routes".

This photo shows two of Dave's friends climbing on Pinnacle Wall (S), opposite. This was a logical continuation of Mur Y Niwl (VS) and justly popular that day. Something for another visit, perhaps?

Watching parties on these routes was ideal entertainment during idle periods, though since we were mostly leading through, there was little time to stand and stare.

My digital camera got its knickers in a twist, and Blofeld's epic photos of my crossing of the arête were lost. Serves me right for posing. So much for technology, bring back the glass plates.

This is what the easier mountain routes are all about : superb, airy positions which you can reach in relative safety.

Note the black sky behind them: thunder was rumbling all afternoon, but luckily we managed to avoid the rain until we were well off the mountain. It fell on Carnedd Llewelyn, barely a kilometre away, so heavily that it caused an audible flow increase in the stream below us.

Sadly, Blofeld had left his tweed plus-fours in the car, and my pipe was buried deep in my rucksack. No jokes about rough shag, then.

The arête really wasn't as bad as it looked, though the exposure on the Amphitheatre side is quite interesting. We declined to try the even more traditional "à cheval" method (AKA anal flossing).

Beats a walk round Shakerley Mere, eh? (family joke, sorry).

"Yeah, no worries, it was all there".

Special thanks to Dave and Steve C for leading us securely up this route, which is way below their grades, when they could have been having major epics with the other hard lads on the opposite wall.

Nice one, chaps.

Time to visit the Bryn Tyrch for a long, slow pint (of lime and soda, obviously).