THE GREAT END GULLIES SEEN FROM SPRINKLING TARN
Far away to the right, where the cliff has shrunk to but one-third of its full height at the Central Gully, a black cleft may be descried that leads from scree to sky-line. This is Cust’s Gully, indifferent as a summer climb, but always beautiful in the richness of its rock scenery, and especially interesting in winter, when drift snow offers a royal road to the top. Every one has a kind word for Cust’s Gully. It is only called the Cussed gully by ignorant novices who inquire whether Skew of Skew Ghyll fame was a member of the Alpine Club. When it is marked out by snow we can from the path just distinguish the great rock bridge or natural arch across the upper part of the cleft.
GREAT END CENTRAL GULLY.--This wonderful ravine offers some special feature every winter. Its individuality changes so completely under the mask of snow, or ice, or rain, that an attempt to describe the gully by an account of any one expedition must of necessity be only partially successful.
One fine winter morning a year or so ago we had a large party at Wastdale, and for once in a way were all of the same mind as to our day’s plans. The walk up towards the Styhead Pass--the Schweinhauskopfjoch of the Swiss travellers among us--would just suit our conversationally-minded fraternity, to whom Brown Tongue or the Pillar Fell or the Gable-end offered gradients too steep for words. We sallied forth from the inn with many axes and great lengths of rope, and lazily worked our way along the valley. The lower path, entirely obliterated by the snow, took us across the stream to the right on to the low slopes of Lingmell. Piers Ghyll stream was crossed without notice, for here the gorge is not at all in evidence and requires closer examination to reveal its magnificence. Then, rising a few feet, we crossed the hollow of Grainy Ghyll and made towards Spout Head and Skew Ghyll. The snow gave us some glorious effects on the hills around. The Mosedale amphitheatre of noble mountains towered above Wastdale, and mutely questioned us as to the accuracy of the surveyors who could give them not even three thousand feet of elevation above us. Nowadays theodolites are taken to the mountains and misused with great effect; why should not the Pillar and Red Pike benefit similarly to the extent of a thousand feet or so? There above us on our left was Great Gable, a White pyramid cutting into a dark sky, at least ten thousand feet of mountain beauty between us and its snowy crest. Who could believe that the summit was only 2,900 feet above sea level? But the engineer among us calmly reminded me of an interesting aneroid observation I had once taken of the top of Moss Ghyll on Scawfell, making it a hundred feet higher than Scawfell itself. Was I to rank myself as a truthful scientist and be contented with the ordnance survey records, or as an artist who should represent heights, shapes, and colours as his imperfect senses make them? We closed the discussion in favour of the artist and then sloped (without slang) up to Skew Ghyll.