Hi Sir! Came up on my phone.  (Must be Finbarr, maybe Sean?)  Further investigation revealed the rest of the message. Hi Sir Julley Anal.  Julley means welcome in Ladakhi, so “Welcome arsehole”.  One has to presume that predictive text was responsible for anal rather than Alan, and so I did, and Paddy and I were royally welcomed by the lovely Anu to the El Castello Hotel Leh.  The manager was Arnab, a long time friend of Raja’s. Raja was tied up for some days with training 11 Lady Indian army officers in the mountains about 2 hours away.  Sounds great, I know, but Raja was less than impressed.

In the meantime we had Ashish, who introduced us to our local guide, the rather serious Ang-Mo.  She would be our town, and acclimatization, guide for the next few days along the Sham valley.  Paddy was having some problems sleeping from almost day 1, when he would doze off, he woke immediately, gasping for breath.  It didn’t happen all the time,  but was very debilitating for him. After a couple of cloudy, occasionally wet days, in Leh, the weather cleared for our 3 day hike through the Sham valley.  We used homestays, shared with assorted Israeli Hikers, and all went to plan.

On return to Leh, we would move to Lhato, but as Paddy’s breathing was still a cause for concern, he would stop at the hospital in Leh, and get it checked out.  The service was quick and efficient at this dedicated tourist clinic, His oxygen saturation was excellent, no fluid in the lungs, so he was good to go.  This was short lived, as he had a bad night at the Lhato homestay 4000m, so the newly arrived (and much stressed Raja) decided to get oxygen sent from Leh. We had a 400m  ascent up the lower Staryuk under our belt, so we headed up to BC.   Raja, who was waiting for delivery of the oxygen, would follow.

It was probably the worst 800m of ascent, up endless, featureless, stoney hillsides, I have ever done, and Paddy and I were totally wasted by the time we got there.  Even our guide Ashish, was sick on the way up.  The horses had passed us, en route, and Lakpa was busy erecting the tents when we arrived.  I recovered quickly, but Paddy did not, and it became clear that he was in a pretty bad way, declaring the if the Oxygen did not arrive before nightfall, he doubted that he would survive.  The oxygen had been delayed, and Raja was unaware of the urgency of the situation, as there was no phone coverage at BC, (and Raja’s phone had disappeared down a crevasse while working with the army group).   Cometh the hour, ……….(6.00PM).the heroic Lakpa abandoned his saucepans and volunteered to run down in the gathering darkness, collect the cylinder and apparatus, and bring it back up.  He got back just before midnight with Rivu, and Paddy got 6 hours of oxygen to get him through the night.

He descended in the morning, meeting Raja on the way up.  Raja persuaded Paddy to go back to the hospital in Leh for further tests, which he did.

Back at base camp, we (Rivu, Ashish, Lakpa and self) started to carry loads to Advance BC, an idyllic spot 1.5-2 hours further up the valley, that we shared with about 100 wild Yak.  On the fourth day, we would vacate BC leaving the Mess tent and two bigger tents in situ.  It became clear that Paddy would not be rejoining our group.

Near the high point of the ridge

I looked through Paddys tent at BC before we moved, to ensure that nothing of value was left, and found his tickets and passport.  I had thought that, in the circumstances, Paddy might decide to fly home early, having been Dumped ( in his own words) from the trip, but this meant that he couldn’t go anywhere.  When I mentioned this to Raja, he just said Paddy is safe in Leh, and Arnab ill look after him.  When we moved to ABC, I reluctantly took Paddy’s Passport with me.

Strayuk Valley North central peak. Left ridge was our objective.

Raja and Rivu went back to BC to lift more food and a better functioning stove, but when they came back up, Raja was unwell with a recurrence of an old lung condition. He said he would go back to BC until he recovered.  I said that I felt that I had done enough, and was happy to descend to Lhato/Leh to return Paddy’s documents.  Raja initial plan was that we would all stay at high camp and climb at least 3x 6000s, but a compromise was reached, that Lakpa and I would attempt one peak only, and descend to ABC, then BC, terminating the trip 4 or 5 days early. I was going well, having been up to the glacial lake for a swim, and even to high camp for a recce. The glacier was in great condition, unlike many, but seriously foreshortened, so the trudge to high camp carrying everything was exhausting.  Two small dark tents were put up to accommodate Lakpa, myself and Ashish,  the translator. It’s always cold, camping on ice, little sleep was had, but I was in good form starting up the rocky ridge to this unclimbed 6000m peak at 5.00AM in the bitter cold. The climbing was mixed rock and hard snow, the best.  About half way up , Lakpa started pulling ahead, then the wheels came off the wagon for me, I just couldn’t get enough oxygen.  Being staggery isn’t a great idea on an exposed ridge, so I turned back, followed by Lakpa, we lifted High camp and Ashish, and eventually made it all the way down to BC, despite  having been charged by some of the yaks at one stage.

The mighty Lakpa between base and advance base camp

The next morning I went down towards Lhato, guided by Ashish.  On arrival at the homestay we were astonished to hear the Paddy had just gone up with two female guides to get his passport, and the stuff that I had just brought down.  Ash had taken us a different route, so we had not seen them.  (You couldn’t make it up).  I left his stuff with Ashish, and took a lift to Leh, to the usual welcome at our hotel.  The Leh festival was in full swing, and the place was alive and vibrant.  Paddy got back later that day and we arranged to meet next morning. Paddy was incensed, as he felt that Raja had abandoned him, he had no clothes, couldn’t change money as he had no passport( I hadn’t thought of that) and to compound things, he had fallen out with Arnab, and left his hotel, so had no support.

Things didn’t get any better for him, as the next day, when we walked into town everything was closed due to a civic protest, and his cash cards didn’t work either.  “Should be open again tomorrow”, but it wasn’t, and things were taking a serious downward turn. Curfews, hunger strikes, riots, shootings etc made us decide to get the hell out, and we got a good flight deal through Sharon of Premier Travel in Derry.  The problem was that my big bag had not made it down before the army closed off the roads, so it may have to be abandoned.

Arnab to the rescue this time. He drove to Lhato overnight, and my big smelly bag was there at reception when I got up in the morning. Ashish Lakpa and Rivu came to say goodbye, at my hotel, picked up Paddy from his, and we were on the 12 oclock flight to Delhi, (along almost every other tourist in Leh).  Delhi was difficult, but we got home to Dublin by 1.30 PM on Saturday, and I made McGrorys for 7.15 thanks to a bus driver in a hurry, and Anthony and PJ.

Well done those who got up it, in this year of our lord 2025. It’s not easy, and many have not managed it.  I was there 35 years previously in September1990, and we climbed it, but it was touch and go.

Our first problem was, the hut from which we had planned to climb it,  had been demolished the year before in 1989, (and was in the early stages of reconstruction) a fact we were entirely unaware of, it being before the internet etc. (This was not a totally new experience for us, as previously, our Eigergletcher hut base for the Eiger had been swept away in 1922 by an avalanche, and never replaced).

 I suspect the gentleman in the tourist office in Lauterbrunnen, who informed us of this, is still dining out on the story.

Undeterred, we constructed an alternative refugio of random building materials and plastic bivvy bags, tied together with our 2 x30m ropes, but this didn’t solve the food problem.  We had 2 tins of Cassoulet, (god only knows why), which we managed to heat on a fire of broken pallets.  Two guys from Cambridge CC were camped nearby, who lent us a lighter, a tin opener and a spoon. Two nights- 2 tins.

The refugio was duly dismantled in the morning , as we needed the ropes,  and the plaque at the base of the route was finally identified by the eagle-eyed Paul Marshall, after some faffing.

Who wants to lead?  Victor was the man, but he refused point blank. So muggins led off.

I seem to remember the first short pitch was the worst, but my notes say that pitch 2 was harder, after that it was ok. We would have had a problem getting down, had the other two, Paul Robinson and Victor Russell, not made it, as we had only 30m ropes, and the abseils were 30. This was also ‘touch and go’ as, although Victor was our ace climber, the technicalities of putting on a harness were beyond him, and Paul had to get him out of, and back into it, on a very small ledge indeed, and he had just led the first pitch tied into a gear loop.

 We were able to tie the two 30s together to get down.  Another night in our reconstructed Hilton, another shared tin of cassoulet, and a walk out to the flesh pots of Fuente De to the best ham and eggs I have ever tasted.  The walkout can’t have been that bad, as my notes say that I left the group to climb Pico De Horcadas Rojas.

We also did, Pena Vieja, Torre Blanca, Tesorora, Torre Llago and Pico De San Carlos, had a rest day in San Vicente, and  got very legless indeed at the Fiesta in Potes.  A full on week, maybe 8 days?

Swells 0.2M was the forecast, and it was mostly right.  That persuaded Iain Miller and I to shun the choice of landward approaches to the Music House, in favour of a leisurely paddle in, to get photos for forthcoming guides.

My wet suit could not be found, but neoprene shorts and jacket would do, (and they did).

The paddle into the crag, and beyond, to look at the Cathar Castle, was pretty idyllic, but half way back across the bay to Dungloon, the weather took a dramatic turn, with a sudden offshore gale. I was nearer the coast than Iain, (who was a bit behind me, taking a more direct line to the Galleon Sea stack), and decided  to head for the beach, rather than further exploration in deteriorating weather.

The problem was, I was unable to turn the boat, such was the force of the wind on my left hand side, the best I could do being straight ahead paddling hard on my right hand side.  This meant the left paddle blade was out of the water, catching the gusts and nearly pushing me over.  This, with rising waves and flying spray running out to sea, was destabilizing and driving me off offshore. I was still on course to meet the headland, but increasingly further and further out.  I lost sight of Iain, due to the spray, and survival mode took over.

I battled my way to a rocky and bouldery shore, and mercifully found a half sheltered area where I could run the kayak up onto the boulders and clamber out, pulling the boat up after me, (losing a shoe in the process).  On the rocks, I could hardly stand up in the gusts.  Clambering onto higher grounds, concern for Iain took over, but I couldn’t see him anywhere.  With only one wet shoe, I made hard work of the climb up the zig zag path, especially on the brambles and blackthorn.  From the heights of the headland I could scan a, now calming, sea, but still no sign of Iain. 

The path out onto the road was a brambly jungle, and not easy in bare feet.  Stopping at the first house, I told the male resident that I had lost my companion.  Phone the coast Guard? Yes, No, Maybe- if in doubt- yes, put them on notice until I check if he made it back to the shore ( I am sure he has survived worse than this, probably).   If he is there I will drive back up and call it off.  I ran (one shoe off one shoe on) down the road to the van, but no sign of Iain.  The resident arrived after, looking for instructions and some further detail of the missing person/kayak. He went back up to his house to ring the coastguard again, while I got dressed.  He arrived back down just in time to see Iain clambering along the coastline, and a big rescue rib entering the bay.  Seconds later the coastguard arrived in force in a couple of crewcabs.  Ammm, the missing person has just turned up, embarrassing, but they didn’t seem upset.  The second time I have called them out, I wonder do they do loyalty cards?

Iain had been on a parallel trajectory further out to sea, missing the end of the headland, but when he passed the Galleon, he was sheltered under its cliffs and the water was calmer, allowing him to paddle into a bay, and stow his kayak. He was no distance from me, but behind a promontory, so couldn’t be seen.  As he started back, he came across my boat up on the rocks, knew I was safe, and tried to ring me.  My phone was secure and dry (at home! –  Lesson there).

A Katabatic wind is when a mass of heavy cold air avalanches downhill off high ground displacing the warmer air, in this case over the sea, a sudden off- shore storm, fierce but brief, and probably caused by the recent spell of unusually cold weather.

We had just walked in, and George was leading Caruso VS4b whilst I had ab’ed down beside him to get a good shot of his lay-backing style, when it started to rain. Even worse, he refused point blank to layback! “Why not?”. ” Don’t want to”. Fair enough I suppose, so we sheltered in the cave until the rain went over.

There was a route beside the cave that I had cleaned, sort of, but I didn’t want to lead, (for reasons that will become apparent), so cunningly I pointed the hand jam crack at the bottom, knowing that George could never walk past a good hand jam, (or any hand jam). All went well until he came across the big loose rock, the mucky jammed blocks above, and the final vegetated fissure, into which you have to slide sideways. He took it well. ” Do you want to second this Alan?” “No thanks, you are alright, Ronan’s there already”.

I had climbed nothing at the stage, having been too taken up with management duties, so led a nice juggy severe over two bulges, seconded by Ronan, which I called Argony Piper. George then led The Dutchman, seconded by Ronan which he thought excellent, and then I led another crackline I had cleaned, Self Isolation Blues, seconded George and Ronan. Back out over the rocks to the beach and home.

Great weekend was had by all, despite the weather not living up to the high pressure expectations.

On Friday morning we met at the Yeats Tavern, that is Neil, Dennis, Damien, Andrew, Sarah, Columba, Martin B, Gertrude, Brian, Margaret and self, and we were joined for the day by Ivan, Valli, Anneka and 2 girls- Pam and another Margaret (when I say ‘girls’ you must understand that when you are my age,’ girls’ refers to any female not currently in a residential home)*.  Martin Neil, Damien and Dennis took off for Pinnacle Gully, Brian, Gertrude and Margaret T for Lough Gill, whilst the rest of us made our way up Kings Gully to the opening of the fissure called Annach re Mor.  (We were joined by Keith, who had just arrived by motorbike). All went to plan for a change, and we had just finished Annach re Mor as the Pinnacle party were starting.  Some of our party then finished with the upper fissure at Altnasomething, a narrow passage with a step ladder exit.

*I forgot to mention that Eugene made a brief appearance in the car park.

The Connemara National Park hostel was as comfortable as ever, although part of the common area was closed.  On Saturday morning the weekenders set off for Bencorrbeg, dropping Andrew off just outside Letterfrack.  A long rocky climb up into the mist took us, after a number of drop outs and false summits, eventually to Ben Corr, where we had hoped to meet up with Andrew.  Unfortunately, he had passed through over an hour before, having run over Knockbrack, Benbrack, Muckanaght, Benbaun, and Bencolladuff. We followed him to the top of Derryclare, then down the rocky and slippery east ridge.  When I got back to the hostel I heard that Damien, Andrew and Neil were already in the pub watching the Ulster game.  After 7 hours on the hill, sprinting was not an option, but I was able to manage a fast hobble to join them, and Damien, ever the gentleman, put a pint of stout in front of me. Such Bliss.  Ulster were out of sight when I went out to buy a newspaper.  When I came back there were only 3 points in it!

Great meal across the road, with first class trad music.  Everyone celebrating the first lockdown free night out, and we finished off with a song or two in the hostel, thanks mainly to Sarah and Gertrude.  Damien, who rumour has it can sing, had snuck aff to bed.

Sunday is normally a short leisurely walk followed by a longer less leisurely drive home, and this was no exception.  The walk wasn’t that leisurely up Diamond hill, but the path is excellent, and something similar would be appropriate for Errigal, I think.