Mucking Around on Moir

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"MUCKING AROUND ON MOIR" "Wakey, wakey, ,> says Barry, shoving a brew at me, closely followed by a bowl of hot jelly. "Best we be off!" he cries, as Icrawl from the warmth of my pitt, pull on my boots, stuff some gear in my pack, and stumble out the door after him. Thick mist was swirling around as we plodded up the road in the six a.m. gloom to the Homer Tunnel. Would Huey be kinder to us today, we wondered Yesterday it was raining before we were half way up Homer Saddle, but today it seemed we were in luck-a few patches of sun were breaking through, and from the saddle the Buttress was silhouetted through a hole in the mist. Then up the ridge we plodded to the bottom of Moir's Mate, where we left one of our packs and some gear. "Pack's still bloody heavy, what can we chuck out?" "P.V.C. parka-weather looks like it's clearing - don't suppose we need bivvy gear, torch So we set off, sidling the Mate on some ledges on the Cleddan Valley, to the bottom of the Moir Buttress. Then we wasted a few hours looking at the bottom of the unclimbed North Face of Moir, and finally got started on the Buttress about half past ten. Apart from one exciting pitch, the first half of the Buttress was just a steep grass climb which we ambled up, sunbathing when there was sun, shivering when the mist rolled in, and keeping amused by watching the cars three thousand feet below us on the hairpins of the Milford Road. We could see the whole road, while the drivers could only see as far as the next corner, sO we shouted directions for them: "Go on, pass now, pass, you've got tons of room, no cars coming at all,' 73 as they continued to bank up behind a slow bus.

"No, no, not yet,you'll never make it, get back, phew, that was close. 9 Anyway, by three o'clock we were still only half way up and just getting to the hard bit. "Too hard for me; Biggles - you better lead it, I think.' > By going off route a bit, and doing some really hairy traversing to get back into the right crack, that pitch took two and a halfhours to lead, and even on a tight rope it took another hour for me to second, taking out the runners. It was starting to get a bit late by this stage, and we still had a fair way to go, SO we thought we'd better pull finger. Also, we were getting a bit concerned about the weather - the nearby hills were getting blotted out by mist and rain, and the sky to the south was getting bad - deep blue and purple and sort of stormy looking. Then it started snowing, and that really got us moving. Barry did all the leading, climbing flat-stick, then hauling me and the pack up while I climbed as fast as I could. Meanwhile the snow was getting heavier, the rock was getting colder and starting to ice up, and it was getting dark. At half past eight we staggered onto the top, put on storm gear, had a mouthful of acid drops and chocolate, then, putting the rope away, dropped onto the snow on the other side of the ridge and stumbled back down to the bottom of the Buttress. "Hey, Barry, a torch would be a good idea, eh?" as we groped our way onto the ledges to sidle under the Mate. At half past ten, with no moon or stars, it got to the stage where we were sliding our feet along the ground to feel where one ledge ended and the next one started. A bit hard on the ol' nerves. "Bit dark eh, Barry!" "Yeh, wouldn't mind some bivy gear!" So we sat down where we were, on our five star ledge with running water (cold only), reclining seats, foot rest, and a great view. Sucked again, the water was running down the reclining seats, and we couldn't see the view because of the mist and the dark, but we didn'tlet that spoil our fun. For warmth, I had two singlets under a nylon parka, plus long johns and overtrou, a balaclava and one mitt; Barry had a different combination amounting to about the same, SO there wasn't much warmth. We had to get up every hour or SO to do a few squats and push-ups to shake off the ice, but we couldn'tleap about too much because it was too dark to see where the edge of the ledge was. About two a.m., when it was getting really cold, we started a sort of raucous singing for a couple of hours, which was quite a laugh, but it seemed to keep us a bit warmer. The best times were when it stopped snowing occasionally, and the mist would clear away (but not for long revealing silvery peaks lit by the stars, and sometimes a lone light winding slowly up the Milford Road at our feet. When it was finally light enough to move, the mist lifted a bit to show two huddled, snow-sprinkled bodies sitting on the last ledge above the Cleddan Valley, very glad to have decided to: stop when we did. Four thirty a.m., still snowing and the wind getting stronger, saw us moving slowly and jerkily along the ledges to where we left the other pack and our spare gear. "A bit snowy to climb the Mate today, d'ya reckon, Laurie?" "Yeah, S'pose so." With that, we slithered and stumbled back down the ridge to Homer Saddle stopping only to drop my glasses, last seen heading faster and faster down a gully towards Homer Tunnel. Well, we got back to Homer Hut alright, caught, up on our lost food and sleep, and spent the rest of the day sunbathing. Bloody Huey! Laurie Gallagher