Skyline Highway, Atlantic Wall || Slioch

Posted In "Winter Climbing" on "September 30th, 2024"

When I think of January in Scotland, the thoughts that come to mind are bad weather, waking up early and feeling sleepy, starting in the dark and finishing in the dark. It’s not usually the month I would choose to climb a longer route in Scotland—slightly later in the year always seems more appealing. However, over the last four years, conditions have consistently aligned for the longer routes I've wanted to climb during this month, resulting in full-value days. The Atlantic Wall on Slioch was definitely no different.

Dom Makenzie and I were staying at a friend’s house near Inverness. Dom had escaped from his van due to wild and snowy weather down to the valley floors. The previous couple of weeks had been wintry up high, but not so much in the valleys. When snowflakes started falling outside the house, I felt a happy sensation inside. I nervously mentioned that I had wanted to climb on Slioch for years but had never had the opportunity. With the forecast looking promising and big flakes dropping outside, I thought it might be in condition. Should we go have a look? Dom didn’t hesitate—he said yes right away.

We both set off the next afternoon, with Dom moving much slower than me after struggling to get out without winter tires. Some borrowed snow chains finally got him going. During this whole time, Dom had been wearing his sandals, his only other footwear besides his climbing boots. I have no idea how his toes didn’t get frostbite!

The night in the van was bitterly cold, with the constant hum of the diesel heater doing little to aid sleep. But the real culprit was the nerves about the day ahead—though, if I'm honest, those "nerves" are probably just excitement. In any case, there wasn’t much time to dwell on it. Our alarms were set for 3:30 a.m. I reluctantly forced down some food, whatever my stomach could handle at that ungodly hour.

Before you know it, you're out walking. This one wasn't going to be over quickly. I had done a lot of research into the cliff, and all accounts of climbing the Atlantic Wall talked about 16-hour-plus days—by talented climbers, no less. Forty-five minutes into our 4.5-hour walk, raindrops started to hit us. This wasn’t in the forecast, but we pressed on, plunging through the slush before stopping a few minutes later. Waterproofs would be a good idea! I’m definitely not a fan of starting a winter climbing day in the rain, knowing that moisture will freeze onto us as soon as we hit freezing levels. Chatting away, we left the well-trodden path, which many Munroists follow, to contour around the southwest of the mountain. After hours of slogging through deep snow, we arrived at the base of the steep and intimidating northwest face.

Struggling to escape the brisk wind, we tucked ourselves into a small alcove. Sipping tea and eating, Dom and I discussed whether it was suitable to climb the route. The weather was worse than forecasted but looked like it was clearing up slowly. This was an important decision, as we had a 370-meter route ahead of us, leading to a big summit. After some hesitation, we decided to go for it. Since I had chosen the route, I would be leading the crux pitch, which was the first. I racked up.

The route follows the line of the summer HVS 5A, Skyline Highway. I moved upwards, feeling cold and stiff. Good hooks motivated me as the wall gradually got steeper. The crux was definitely approaching, and my pace slowed. Conditions were good, and I managed to place a couple of solid cams in ice-free cracks. This made me feel more confident as I approached an awkward hand crack with no hooks at the back. Moving up and down a couple of times, I decided this looked difficult. I searched for alternatives, swinging my axe sideways to knock loose powder off the rock. Finding a hook out to the right, I nervously tested it before committing my full weight. Hanging onto one axe on steep ground, I searched for small footholds on the rounded sandstone. A high reach unlocked another hook, followed by using my knees to pull over the bulge. Easier ground led to the belay, and I felt that amazing post-pitch relief!

Easier pitches followed, with Dom and I swapping leads. The clouds were lifting by this point, revealing the incredible Torridon and Fisherfield hills, with Loch Maree looking beautiful below us. On my next lead, I followed what appeared to be easier terrain. I was wrong. Blocked by a short, steep wall, I decided to stop and belay, as the moves above looked challenging. I brought Dom up to me, and since I was still eager to lead, Dom kindly let me go again. This pitch turned out to be deceptively tricky. Scraping around on very rounded sandstone just a few meters above Dom, I expressed my concerns. After some hesitation, I decided to make a lunge for a hook that looked promising. I leaped forward while Dom debated whether to belay or spot me! Fortunately, my axe caught—though not as positive as I’d hoped—and committed upward, finding a "thank God" hook. Dom followed, remarking how big that move was—he’s not small (6’5”!), so it must have been a long reach. I’m not sure whether we were still on the route at this point, as it felt harder than the crux pitch!

Eventually, we reached easier mountaineering ground that led us to the remote summit of Slioch, just as the sun dipped below the horizon. What an incredible place to be. Those moments just before it gets dark always feel rushed, trying to make as much progress as possible before nightfall. I’ve come to realize that the transition between day and night often feels strange, but once it’s fully dark, everything seems fine. It’s usually a good time to relax for a moment and grab a brew and a snack.

The descent wasn’t going to be quick. The normal route down is long enough on its own, but we decided to avoid it. With a high avalanche risk, we opted for the scenic route to avoid avalanche-prone slopes. An alpine-like snowy ridge led us across to Sgurr an Tuill Bhain—we could have been anywhere. For what felt like hours, we slowly waded down toward the shore of Loch Maree, often sinking up to our waists in snowdrifts. Occasionally, we sat down to catch our breath before summoning the energy to continue. Once we reached the shore, the hard part was done. A 4-kilometer walk would bring us back to what now seemed like luxury—our vans. Sixteen hours after we had begun, the stories about this hill proved to be true. What a day.