Walker’s Gully, Pillar Rock.—The Christmas of 1898 at Wastdale was marked by heavy rain and unseasonable conditions. Several large parties of climbers had come to the hotel, and, after a day or two of smoking and grumbling, had departed; until, at the New Year, Mr. Jones and myself were the only climbers left there. To keep ourselves in training, we struggled up through the powdery snow of the Central Gully on Gable Crag, performed many rash feats on the end of the barn and the billiard-table, besides leaving a considerable quantity of our clothing on the ‘Mosedale Boulder.’

Early in January we walked over to Keswick; and found, on returning, that another party had arrived, amongst whom was my friend Mr. A. E. Field. We greeted him as warmly as we could under such cold conditions; and when, later in the evening, we disclosed our intention to climb Walker’s Gully, he was quite ‘keen’ on undertaking the very necessary duties of ‘third man.’ Our party was now complete; but the heavy rain-clouds still rolled up from the sea, and the weather continued persistently bad. We were forced at last to the conclusion that, if Walker’s Gully had then to be climbed, it would have to be done regardless of bad weather and personal discomfort.

As a result of this reasoning, the early morning of January 7th, 1899, saw the three of us trudging patiently up the Black Sail Pass in a tremendous downpour of rain and sleet; but, notwithstanding this, with the climber’s cheery optimism, a ‘fair-up’ was confidently prophesied. As an exception to the general rule, our prophecy was fulfilled; for, just as we reached the soft snow on Looking Stead, the huge banks of mist rolled up from both valleys, and far away in the north we saw ‘hoary-headed old Skiddaw’ bathed in sunshine, while a keen dry wind blew up out of Ennerdale. We trudged along through the snow on the High Level, and about mid-day were facing the ice-covered slabs and snow-wreathed ledges on the north-east side of the Pillar Rock. Little was said as we scrambled to the foot of Walker’s Gully; for each of us fully recognised what was ahead, and it was better to be silent, than to utter discouraging remarks.

The rope was put on at the foot of the crags, Field being the ‘anchor’ of the party, whilst I, as usual, was placed next to Jones, to serve as a special buttress when hand and foot holds should become scarce. A strong jet of ice-cold water came rushing down over the first pitch, so that, not wishing to have our enthusiasm cooled so early in the day, we climbed up the wet, slippery slabs on our left. About fifty feet higher we had some difficulty in a shallow sloping chimney, down which a mud avalanche seemed to have fallen quite recently, and here our leader remarked ‘we ought to have been equipped with mud-guards.’ We were soon facing the main gully, with its tremendous chock-stones rising one above the other, over which streamed large quantities of water, suggesting a somewhat too rapid cleansing of our mud-stained garments. We entered the chimney and found it just wide enough to back up, with both feet on the right-hand wall; the falling ice-chips apprising us of the fact that hard work was in progress higher up.

We climbed very rapidly for about fifty feet, close together, until almost within touch of the uninviting stream of water falling over the first jammed boulder, which was now just above our heads. Knowing this to be one of the most difficult pitches in the lower part of the climb, a short ‘council of war’ was held, for all seemed desirous of avoiding a cold bath as long as possible. Then, screwing up his courage, Jones made a bold dash through the waterfall to the back of the cave. Knowing his objection to monopolising pleasures of this kind, we followed him, and were soon all gasping and shivering below the jammed boulder. After further consideration and experiment, the only safe course, apparently, was for me to stand under the waterfall and give the leader a shoulder over the mauvais pas. As our ablutions seemed likely now to be very thorough, we ate our lunch and watched, for a time, the falling water, which, in my opinion, to some extent spoilt the view. The discomfort of our position, however, soon impressed upon us the necessity of moving. Field therefore held me firmly from the back of the cave, whilst I stood under the shower-bath; and Jones mounted on my shoulders, from whence he reached a hold on the top of the boulder, over which he pulled himself with an exclamation of delight. I then retired to the cave with considerable alacrity. Sounds from above warned us that the leader was scarcely yet secure, so we steadily paid out about forty feet of his rope, until he reached safe anchorage at the top of the three boulders forming the pitch. In following we wasted very little time under the waterfall, and soon joined Jones on a little snow-patch, from which we could study the situation. A hundred feet or so higher, and apparently overhanging our present position, was the top jammed boulder. Evidence was not wanting, however, to show us that we were not safe from falling objects; for, stuck in a curiously upright position in the snow in front of us, were three walking-sticks, with two pairs of torn gloves and some much-worn socks lying by their side. We thought at first a party of tourists had somehow reached here and forgotten their ‘impedimenta;’ but our leader remembered that some friends, having climbed the Pillar Rock at Christmas, had thrown their sticks and luggage down into Jordan Gap before descending themselves. The snow proved harder than they thought, their property making an unexpected descent into Walker’s Gully, and here were we confronted with the opportunity of acting as a rescue party; but, not thirsting for fame, we decided to leave the relics undisturbed.

Jones now led us up several small, wet pitches, until we came to a sudden stop in a great cave, where there was no apparent way out, except through a very small hole high up in its roof; an outside route being practically impossible on account of the accumulation of ice on both walls. Jones remarked that he was not going ‘to emulate the camel that failed to go through the eye of a needle;’ so, to reduce his bulk as far as possible, he emptied his pockets and left his wet jacket for Field to sit upon. No holds on the side of the cave were available, so the leader climbed upon my shoulders, but he could barely reach his arms through the hole. Field, meanwhile, was smoking and making the most of his comfortable position. With somewhat insincere apologies, we called on him to form an additional buttress, and, from his shoulders, I was able to force the leader through the hole, amidst the sound of tearing clothes and muffled remonstrances from their owner.

I shall not readily forget my own sufferings in that hole. The first attempt, from Field’s shoulders, was a complete failure, because the upper part of my body absolutely refused to fit the shape of the hole. After several fruitless efforts and much wasted energy, I happened to look up and saw Jones smiling down at me. “That is not right. Go down and have another try,” said he. He then loosed the rope rather suddenly, whereupon I made an unexpected descent upon Field, who was standing below enjoying my troubles; and there was much confusion in the cave. After extricating ourselves, Field again kindly placed his shoulders at my service, but from a somewhat higher level than before, and this, with the aid of his ice-axe applied from below, ultimately landed me at the top of the hole feeling very roughly handled. Field then sent up our jackets, and, after the hole had been slightly enlarged by removing some loose rocks, he came up himself in good style.

We were now at the foot of the formidable top-pitch, which had never been climbed. A sudden seriousness settled on us all as we looked up at it, and remembered that this pitch had defied some of the finest cragsmen of our time. The walls on both sides were perpendicular, and the rounded appearance of the rocks suggested an unusual absence of hand and foot holds, whilst the presence of ice in several places caused us much uneasiness. There were three large flat chock-stones piled irregularly right across the chasm. Towards the upper one, which overhung considerably, the two walls converged so much that it seemed possible to ‘back up’ the last part of the climb, if the leader could only reach it safely. The only other alternative would be to climb up on the right wall, close under the lower chock-stone, and traverse outwards and upwards until suitable holds could be found. A troublesome sleet was beginning to fall; so that we were glad to climb into the cave directly beneath the chock-stones. A firm ‘hitch’ was discovered in the back of the cave, by which Field could anchor us; and he settled himself in a wet corner where his attention was occupied in dodging the drops of falling water and directing our movements.

Our first efforts were on the left wall; and by means of an ice-axe fixed in a narrow corner, Jones skilfully and safely wedged himself in a crack which led almost to the top of the first boulder. However, for the next half-hour his attempts to make further progress were in vain, for a hand could not be spared to chip the ice off the rocks; and it was found necessary to abandon this left wall and to try the opposite one, which now occupied our attention for some time. Jones made several attempts from a shoulder to effect a lodgment below the chock-stone. Then, whilst enjoying a well-earned rest, we espied a small rock, wedged high up in the crack between the main wall and the roof of the cave. That small rock proved to be the key of the situation, for, after probably the finest piece of climbing I have ever witnessed, a rope was passed through the hole behind it, and we were in a position to attempt the climb safely. We were all suffering acutely from cold, especially Field, on account of his inaction, though he declared that the excitement of our movements kept him warm. Notwithstanding this, our leader, taking off his boots and jacket, prepared for a long struggle on that icy wall, whilst I padded my head to gain an inch or two in height. Jones now swung up as high as possible on the hitched rope; then, while standing on my head, he found a very small hold for one of his toes, and after ascending a few feet was hidden from our sight by the intervening chock-stone. The next few minutes were anxious ones; we shivered with cold, and held the rope firmly in case there should be a mishap higher up. Almost immediately there was a rush of falling snow far out over the pitch, and it scarcely needed our leader’s jÖdel of success to assure us that at last Walker’s Gully had yielded to the onslaught of the climber.

We pushed the leader’s boots into his jacket pockets and sent up all our ‘luggage.’ Owing to the half-frozen condition of our fingers, tying the various things on the rope took so long a time, that we called forth an impatient exclamation from above. Eventually we, in turn, landed safely at the top, after swinging ignominiously on the rope, in much the same way as our ‘luggage’ had done. However, the great hitherto unclimbed pitch of Walker’s Gully was below us, and there followed the usual congratulations. Our progress up from the screes had been slow, something like three hours, but much time had been spent in reconnoitring under extremely bad conditions.

The situation was still rather serious, for we were perched on a narrow snow-ledge on the very brink of the upper chock-stone; and the three of us were almost in a state of collapse from cold and the saturated state of our clothes. The forced inaction of the leader, whilst we were finishing the climb, had made him so benumbed as to be almost helpless, and he was sitting with his feet in the wet snow, ineffectually trying to put on his boots. We had carefully kept some stockings and gloves dry in the rÜcksack; but the opening of the sack with half-frozen fingers proved unfortunate, for its contents escaped, and, with the other relics which had come down through Jordan Gap, now adorned the snow-patch far below. It was then agreed that this narrow, exposed ledge was, under the circumstances, not a suitable dressing room; so we gathered up our belongings, including our leader’s boots, and carefully ascended the snow until we came to a safe resting place. Here we resorted to the usual means of thawing ourselves, and our leader’s boots were restored to their appointed places.

The race up the steep snow seemed to revive our spirits, and, by the time the dry rocks below Great Doup were reached, our sufferings gave way to the glow of success. One little excitement was still in store for us, for Jones told us that he was threatened with frost-bite in both feet. On removing his boots we found that his statement was true, so we rubbed his feet with soft snow, and, before putting on his boots, the troublesome feet were placed as far as possible in the pockets of the warmest member of the party, until circulation was thoroughly restored.

Night was drawing on apace; so we bade farewell to our ‘vanquished foe,’ and were soon scampering along the High Level, bound for the well-earned comforts of Wastdale.

Iron Crag Chimney.—Towards the head of the Shoulthwaite Valley, which is 3½ miles from Keswick, near the road to Ambleside, may be seen high up on the right-hand side, a magnificent couloir. It runs up the south side of one of the steepest faces of rock in the district, and is called, after the rock, Iron Crag Chimney. We had passed in sight of the Crag scores of times, but the chimney is so cunningly hidden away on the far side from the road, that it was not until Mr. J. W. Robinson told us of it, that we dreamt of there being anything worth climbing there. He and my brother went to prospect it in March, 1896, but found it in such a very bad condition, that after climbing the comparatively easy first pitch, they were forced to beat a retreat. They came back, however, with a glowing account of the second pitch, and spoke very excitedly about ‘“a thing” at least 100 feet high, wet, mossy, and with an overhanging stone half-way up, from which the water dropped out four yards into the bed of the gully, 40 feet below.’ They thought, however, that a small ledge, up to which they had climbed, would continue far enough along the left wall of the gully to enable them to traverse well out from under the stone, and so reach the top of it. Of the nature of the climbing above that they knew nothing, but were both anxious to try it and confident of success.

Continued bad weather hindered another attempt until June of the same year, when Mr. F. W. Jackson and I joined the other two and we set out to attack this formidable ‘hundred-footer.’ The day was fine and the rocks in perfect condition, and we succeeded in climbing the chimney throughout. I intend to give more detail of the second ascent; but it may be as well to mention here that the second pitch only yielded after several attempts, by more than one member of the party, and only with the aid of a shoulder, given from the little ledge, was the leader able to climb to the top of the ‘chock-stone.’ After this another thirty feet of chimney brought us to the top of the pitch, and great were the rejoicings that we had, after a very severe struggle, mastered it. I shall never forget how white the face of one member of the party was when it appeared over the top of the pitch, how he yelled to us to ‘haul in the taut,’ how he ‘quoth “nevermore,”’ and how impolitely he spoke to the leader for having climbed it at all. Altogether this second pitch gave us a good deal of trouble, but the top part of the chimney, though very rotten and steep, and liable to come away in small quantities, was climbed with comparative ease.

After this, except some exploration of the Crags by Mr. H. W. Blunt, it was not visited again by climbers until the New Year of 1899, when Mr. O. G. Jones, with my father, my brother, and myself, found ourselves standing at the bottom of the first pitch. We had expatiated on the difficulty of the second pitch, and Jones was very keen on trying it, having, in fact, come over from Wastdale with us for that purpose. En route to Iron Crag we had climbed a gully on the west side of the massif, which consisted of a series of very interesting chimneys, the pleasures of which were greatly enhanced by magnificent views of Derwentwater. This had made us somewhat later than we anticipated, and an animated discussion was held at the bottom as to whether, considering the lateness of the hour and the bad condition of the gully, which was streaming with water, it would not be advisable for two of the party to stay below or go round and join the others at the top. This was decided against; ‘all or none,’ said Jones, so we roped up with him leading. He soon reached the small ledge under the stone, and then stopped to take breath and prospect. ‘Shall I come up to you?’ shouted my brother. ‘No thanks! I’ll have a try from here alone, and you would get wet through in no time up here,’ returned he. This consideration for my brother was utterly unlike him, for, amongst other similar occasions, I well remember one on which, in a gully—or rather waterfall—in Wales, he got wet through on the first pitch, and insisted on our finishing with him all the eight pitches. His look of glee when we emerged from the top of each pitch with the water running down us was a thing to be remembered. However, to return, he jammed his left foot against the left wall of the gully and pressed his back against the other, and almost before we had time to see what had happened, was smiling down on us from the top of the pitch. It was very disgusting to see him just ‘romp’ up the place we had found so difficult the year before, and when I had climbed up to him he smiled sardonically and said, ‘Is that your pitch? Well, really——!’ A small handhold had weathered away since the time of the first ascent, which somewhat simplified the passing over the ‘chock-stone,’ but even now I think most people would find it difficult. We could only apologise and feel small, but, had we known it, there was a surfeit of excitement and difficulty in store for us higher up.

The pitch we had just climbed was composed of most excellent rock, but up above, where we now were, everything was changed, and the upper rocks, which had been rotten enough before, were now, as a result of the heavy rain, of the worst description imaginable. Great pieces as large as one’s head came away at once, and every step had to be most carefully tested before we could proceed. Now was the time for us to appreciate our leader, for a less careful man would have ‘pounded’ us severely before we had made any progress worth mentioning. As it was, several big pieces had to be removed, and some came whizzing past in much too close proximity to be pleasant.

After the second pitch the chimney continues straight up and is fairly wide for two hundred feet or so; but there is no good anchorage until the level skyline is reached. Towards the top it narrows down to a thin, rotten and very steep crack. By slow and very careful progress we reached this crack, which had been climbed straight up on the first ascent; but after Jones had tried it a few times he evidently thought it hopeless, for he shouted down to us, ‘It won’t go to-day. The rain has made everything too rotten. We shall have to go back.’ It was four o’clock, raining heavily and nearly dark, and to go back meant in all probability sleeping on the top of the second pitch, an idea which none of us relished. So my brother climbed up to Jones and, after consulting for a while, they decided to climb out of the crack on the right-hand side. To do this a shoulder would have to be given, from a small shelving ledge, to enable the leader to reach the firmer and less steep rock up above. This was the most obvious route of ascent, but the ledge looked very unstable and rotten, and vibrated a little on being tested. However, Jones thought it might hold if stepped on in the right way; so my brother climbed up on to it and Jones followed. By utilising the side of the crack, they were able to put very little pressure on the ledge; Jones climbed on to his companion’s shoulders, and, when he had cleared away a few of the loose rocks, was, after an anxious moment or two, able to draw himself up on to the skyline and disappear from our sight. After a few seconds he gave a cheer and called to my brother to follow him. This he had just begun to do and had left the ledge about five feet, when I heard a dull ominous crack, and, on looking up, saw the whole thing coming down. There was no time to do anything but squeeze into the chimney and warn my father. I succeeded in getting far enough inside to escape serious damage, but the heel of my left boot, which projected a little, was torn entirely away. My father’s escape was more marvellous, for it seemed that nothing could save him; but on looking down I saw the great rock strike a projecting piece of the chimney only a few inches above his head, and spread out like a fan into a thousand splinters which shot far out into the air, falling again near the foot of the chimney; and thus we escaped with only a few slight bruises. One shudders to think what would have happened if the ledge had fallen when Jones and my brother were on it. It may be of interest to say here that during the whole of our climbs with Jones, this was the only approach to an accident we had, and under his leadership the possibility of anything going wrong seemed, and always was, very remote indeed.

After this we were not long in joining the other two at the top. By this time it was nearly dark and still raining heavily, and on the crest of the chimney we were faced by a bitterly cold wind. Jones, who had been exposed to this during the time we were ascending, was shaking with cold, and he shouted through the storm—‘Hurry up! Coil the rope and then we’ll do a sprint.’ On looking round we found that he had gone. We finished coiling the rope and hurried up to where he had been, but could not see him anywhere. We shouted again and again, but got no answer. After peering about and shouting several times we came to a standstill. ‘Is he subject to fits?’ inquired my father in a most doleful tone of voice. We had never heard of anything of the sort, so set off down the side of the crags in the hope of finding him awaiting us below. A miserable hour was spent in walking about the bottom of the crags calling his name; but the whistling of the wind in the rocks above, and the swishing of the rain were the only answers we got; so we set off down the fell-side, and, after floundering about in the dark, over the stone-walls and through the river, we found ourselves at last on the main road to Keswick. We were very anxious to know what had become of Jones, so hastened home, where we found him, ‘dressed up in all his best,’ toasting his feet in front of a comfortable fire. ‘Where have you been?’ ‘Dinner has been waiting an hour,’ and so on, were the thanks we got for our weary hunt among the crags for him, and the query of my father’s about his taking ‘fits’ became one of his favourite jokes. After proposing the ‘sprint’ to us he had run round a projecting shoulder of rock to leeward, and started off to Keswick over the moor, by the route we had taken earlier in the day. We had expected him to go down to the Shoulthwaite Valley, and in this way had missed him.

So finished one of the most exciting days we ever spent with Owen Glynne Jones; and its events are indelibly stamped on my memory. But, full of incident as the day had been, my pleasantest recollection is of the evening that followed; when, by the fire and over our pipes, we fought old battles over again, recalling to life happy days and exciting moments on the fells, ending with the songs and glees Jones loved so well to sing, and across the space of years, taking us back into the ‘dear, dead days,’ will come into our ‘mind’s eye’ the picture of him kneeling by the piano, singing with the keen enthusiasm which characterized everything he did, his favourite hymn—

Engineers’ Chimney, Gable Crag.—This new and interesting climb is situated about midway between the Oblique Chimney and the Central Gully. The beginning of it lies at nearly the same level as that of the Oblique Chimney, and can be reached by traversing some easy ledges from the ‘Sheep Walk,’ or by ascending directly from the foot of the Crags. Although the chimney was well known to many climbers, its ascent had, curiously enough, not been seriously attempted until July 30th, 1899, when Messrs. G. T. Glover and W. N. Ling made the first ascent. Since then it has been ascended on two other occasions, and it seems likely to become as popular as any of the Gable Crag climbs. The scenery is magnificent and the climbing throughout of a most interesting character, and in the centre of the lower part of the chimney a loosely wedged stone adds an element of risk and difficulty, which is absent from the other chimneys on this face. About eight feet from its commencement the chimney divides into two branches, but the route lies up the left-hand one. A good resting place for the second man is to be obtained in the right-hand branch, and he ought to stay here while the leader is negotiating the very difficult passage over the chock-stone. In all the ascents so far it has been found advisable to pass a rope behind and over this stone, to improvise a handhold, and even then this ten feet or so will be found quite difficult enough for most people. After this, another twenty-five feet of careful climbing brings one to a broad, sloping ledge where a rest can be taken. From here two routes are available. One is to keep to the chimney, which continues straight upward for about forty feet, and the other is to traverse out round the left-hand buttress for a few feet and then bear upwards, joining the ‘Sheep Walk’ near the top of the Crags. The former of these involves about twenty feet of fairly easy climbing, until the small cave, roofed over with the stone which dominates the chimney, is reached. From this cave the easiest method of ascent is to utilise a thin crack in the left wall into which some small stones are firmly jammed and which may be reached by wedging across the chimney and traversing outwards, a slight projecting ledge affording some help in the process. The ‘take-off’ into the crack is somewhat delicate and decidedly sensational on account of the scanty foothold, but once gained ten to twelve feet of further climbing practically finishes the chimney. The traverse route round the buttress is much easier, but it entirely evades the most sensational part of the climb.

West Wall Climb, Deep Ghyll.—For climbers of Deep Ghyll who ascend the second pitch by the right-hand exit, this new route is probably the best way out of the Ghyll. After thus passing the second pitch, the West Wall Climb starts from a point about twenty-six yards below the entrance to the Great Chimney. By climbing over two small ledges and up a conspicuous thirty-feet chimney, a broad ledge is reached, where further direct progress is not advisable.

The best way lies around a corner to the right and up a series of easy ledges, working gradually back again to above the commencement of the climb. About half-way up ‘The Wall’ an undercut pinnacle is reached and ascended on the left before a lodgment can be effected on its outside edge, and some enjoyable work follows until a spacious ledge on the right can be utilised. When Messrs. J. W. Robinson, J. H. Doncaster, and H. W. Blunt first made the ascent, in the September of 1898, this portion of the climb was considered difficult, and it is probably the only part where special care is necessary. Above this the climbing can be varied considerably, but the direct ascent of a rock ridge, straight ahead, is to be recommended. The course throughout is well within the powers of most climbing parties, and the magnificent views of Scawfell Pinnacle and Deep Ghyll add additional interest to the ascent.

We are indebted to two friends for the notes on the following climbs:—To Mr. G. T. Glover for those on the Ling Chimney, and to Mr. W. R. Reade for those on the West Jordan Gully.

The Ling Chimney, Eagle’s Nest ArÊte.—In the first edition of his book Mr. O. G. Jones mentions that there are two chimneys on the left-hand side of the Eagle’s Nest ArÊte, ‘the right of these is shallow and open ... whether it can be climbed or not I have never ascertained.’ On October 15th, 1899, Messrs. W. N. Ling, C. E. Martineau and G. T. Glover made the first recorded ascent of it, after a preliminary exploration from above. From the top of the small grass gully which commences the arÊte climb, one traverses about ten feet across some rock to the left, being then in a direct line below the final chimney. Going straight upwards, by steep rock steps, an upright slab is swarmed up with the hands and feet on each side, until a platform is reached, on which the second man can join the leader. About fifteen feet above this is another platform at the foot of a narrow chimney which needs careful climbing for about ten feet, until a foothold can be utilised on the sharp edge of the left wall.

From here some stiff pulls on the arms land one out either on a broad ledge above the easy gully route, or up a continuation of the chimney to the right-hand side of the narrow pinnacle at the finish of the true arÊte climb. The ascent, as a whole, requires more care than the gully route.

The West Jordan Gully, Pillar Rock.—This deeply cut gully, or, more correctly speaking, chimney, is a striking feature of the Western face of the Pillar Rock, and, together with the East Jordan Gully, the head of which it meets at Jordan Gap, cuts off the actual Pillar Rock from Pisgah. Probably many climbers have examined the West Jordan Gully, but it does not appear to have been seriously attacked before July, 1898, when Mr. W. P. McCulloch and the writer climbed it. Walking up the bed of the gully we passed a tempting looking crack on the North wall which ends in a small cave; above this cave the gully is ‘chocked’ by several overhanging stones which from below seem very formidable obstacles. We, however, avoided the crack and, mounting a series of jammed stones, reached the innermost recesses of the chimney. We were now almost on a level with the top of the crack, and, the gully being here narrow enough to brace firmly across, we backed upwards and outwards for about fifteen feet, reaching the cave without great exertion. So far we had done well, but still the great jammed stones, round which we had to pass, loomed black overhead. Holds for the traverse outward looked anything but satisfactory, so Mr. McCulloch, after passing the rope round a conveniently placed jammed stone, climbed on to my shoulders and, with considerable difficulty, dragged himself into a small cave about fifteen feet above. As this cave would only accommodate one man, I climbed to Mr. McCulloch’s level, with a little assistance from the rope, and took the lead. Traversing outwards for about fifteen feet, I climbed a sensational forty-feet chimney, which we had surveyed from above several days previously, and landed safely in the bed of the gully past all difficulties. The height of the whole pitch is slightly under 100 feet, and, from beginning to end, the climbing is of a most interesting character. The second ascent was made by the brothers Broadrick, in August of the same year, but there is no record of it having been climbed since.