A cold wind doth blow (II) , a bit harder this time ....
After a hearty night in the CIC hut , watching Dave make his way through four courses , including cheese board and some decent claret , the chaps were ready for another day out in the hills. 'Mmmmmm .... looks a little tricky out there today.' says Lord Charles as they saddled up to head up into the Coire. . 'Lets head up into the Coire and see what's it like and make a decision when we get there ............ the others left early and have not been back - bet they have found plenty to do!' enthused President Jackson. 'If not we have loads of Haribo and 6 litres of wine , we can make do in the hut.'
A bit of slog up into the corrie , opened up the blisters again. 'What shall we do ?' Says Lord Charles . Two axe and Kiwi declined the offer of another day in the delightful Scottish weather and went back into the hut. Lets head up to Number 4 area and see what else is going on.' Lord Charles trogged on to the small buttress by the entrance to No. 4 gully. Marvelling at the tons of spindrift pouring of the crag !
'This is not looking too clever' says Dave, as he stopped by the buttress. 'Look, there are the others from last night near number three buttress, that looks a bit desperate - they must be heading back. ' They all cheerfully waved to the others on the opposite side of the coire. 'Lets sack it off and head back. this is bit dangerous'. Bit of a food stop, and then back down towards the hut. We finally met up with Jeremy and others, 'Did you not see us waving ?' - yes - we could just about see you behind the clag and drift - very pleasant of you dear chap!'. ' No, we were trying to warn you , that a bloody great big avalanche, swept the other side of the buttress you were stood next too.!'
'Jesus, think its cards, haribo and wine for the rest of the stay!' - Its not getting better - getting worse tomorow and then may clear up. 'I'm gagging for a curry , lets bail and head into the flesh pots of Fort William. And so ends the sorry tale of the winter CMC trip to the Ben, no cloudless blue skies as before - ' I think Chamonix next year ' - but nobody heard Lord Charles through the howling wind, beating a retreat from the Ben.