THREE ON THE CENTRE GRID OF THE TRIDENT BUTTRESS, BEN NEVIS. BY J. INGLIS CLARK. IT was an ideal April morning for our walk up the wellknown pony track. With the sky blue and clear, a gentle cool breeze, and mountains glistening snow-clad in the sunshine, we might easily imagine that we were in Switzerland. The knowledge that this was indeed our “ain countree" gave us added zest. This was no “land of mountain and flood" (as, alas! it only too often is), but a land of mountains crowned with dazzling snow and flooded with glorious sunshine. As I walked along I could not help rejoicing to find myself far removed in spirit from that not impossible wretch of whom the great Sir Walter has written "With heart so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native land?'" Before saying good-bye to the Mamore peaks, as we rounded the corner leading to the Lochan, the photographer of the party strove to immortalise the scene. While packing up the paraphernalia, two vigorous parties made up on us. We knew of two other parties still farther behind. Surely the Ben was holding his levée to-day. The others pushed on for the summit direct, while we bent our steps towards the deer fence. Mr Rickmers had thoughtfully left ski for our use, hidden behind a friendly boulder. With these two of the party had an enjoyable time of ski practice, while the camera fiend enjoyed himself in the manner peculiar to his kind. After concealing the ski, we proceeded on our way-glissading gaily over the edge, when we reached it, down into the Allt a Mhuilinn Glen. Shortly afterwards we were enjoying our mountain mid-day meal at the Lunching Boulder. The rock scenery from this point is at all times unspeakably grand, but, seen by the writer for the first time in regal winter garb, it made an impression never to be forgotten. Those wondrous cliffs, plastered and moulded with snow and ice, every crevice filled in with glistening white, soared upwards cornice-crowned to the sky. To such a noble and sublime scene the following words of Ruskin are especially applicable: "The feeding of the rivers and the purifying of the winds are the least of the services appointed to the hills. To fill the thirst of the human heart for the beauty of God's working-to startle its lethargy with the deep and pure agitation of astonishment-are their higher missions." I claim for this view-point a very high place in alpine scenery, and maintain that with winter's snowy mantle Ben Nevis from the centre of the Allt a Mhuilinn Glen can proudly hold his own. After lunch comes the business of the day. Our destination was the Trident Buttress with its three ridges and three summits which have given it the name. These are well seen in the accompanying photograph, which shows it in its summer aspect. The left hand (southern) ridge, the Pinnacle Arête, had been climbed in June 1902 (see Vol. VII., p. 152); the right hand or northern ridge was conquered at New Year 1904; but the central ridge, which was our goal, had not yet been ascended. We made our way up the glacier-worn slabs of Coire na Ciste till level with the little tarn, still locked in its long winter sleep under a deep covering of ice and snow. After kicking steps up the rapidly steepening snow slope above it, we arrived at the bergschrund below the steep ice and snow covered curtain of rocks forming the lower portion of the Central Trident. A short time for roping, rest, and refreshment, and our leader started up the most promising-looking "lead,” a steep little couloir filled with hard snow. Sixty or seventy feet up we arrived at a "pitch," a vertical wall where the many alternations of thawing and freezing had converted the snow practically into ice. This steep portion naturally required care. Above this the angle was less for a little, but we soon arrived at another, this time much higher, ice pitch. This was absolutely impossible, so our leader, Mr Raeburn, traversed round to the left, across and along a steeply sloping ledge below overhanging ice-covered rocks. It |