A few weeks before Christmas, I received – for the first time – the magazine of the Mountain Training Association, “The Professional Mountaineer“. I read with interest a double-page spread about the scope for winter activities in Galloway, including winter climbing. I’d never really considered that part of the world as being particularly suitable for such endeavours, but the inclusion of a photo of a particularly fun-looking icefall got me very excited. I added it to the “list of places I’ll have to wait years for good conditions at”.

Fast-forward to a couple of weeks ago, and a prolonged cold spell meant I had messaged John Brannock – star of A Short Walk with Brannock, 2013 – and suggested we head up for the weekend. I was delighted he was able to accompany me at such short notice, and equally delighted that we were able to spend the weekend at Chez Nick, scene of Galloway-based exploits last year.

After an eminently sensible arrival time on Friday, we had a leisurely start on Saturday and began the walk-in at 08:30. The venue was Milldown, at the southern end of the Rhinns of Kells.

After a non-nonsense slog up through forestry we eventually broke out onto the hill and traversed steep heather and tussocks to the foot of the crag.

Information about the climbs in Galloway seems at best scarce, so we really wanted a look before we committed to anything. There didn’t seem to be much ice on the way in but what little info we had found online suggested that for some routes the ice was essentially invisible until you were stood directly underneath it.

One such route is Better Gully, III **, which is the right-hand of the two prominent gullies on the crag. We geared up a little way below and climbed to the foot of the gully proper, and sure enough there was ice. Phew. With a belay built, John set off on the seemingly disproportionately-difficult first couple of moves. The blobs of turf on the gully wall were sparse but well frozen, but he was looking at precarious moves over a good-sized sheer drop. With an impressive display of just-getting-on-with-things, he committed, danced his way across the dodgy section, and launched into the gully bed before regrouping and reassessing. The assessment was “I think it’s climbable.“, and so our brave protagonist continued upwards on what now looked far more like the grade III ground mentioned in the single topo we’d managed to find anywhere.

I, meanwhile, sat at the belay convincing myself that the start was basically impossible, that I hated winter climbing, and that my feet were really really cold. Only the final point turned out to be true. With the slack and my belay gone, I eventually gave a shout of “Climbing!” and tentatively stepped out into the abyss. The good thing about such situations is that John is 50 metres above you, can’t hear a word, and certainly can’t be brought back down because you’re a bit nervous. So I put my grown-up hat on, and immediately started enjoying myself. After a bit of puzzling I managed some lovely dangling-whilst-removing-gear moves, and committed to the big bridge across into the gully floor.

From there it was a delightful three pitches of alternating steep steps followed by belay-sized flat sections. I remembered just how much I love winter, particularly the problem-solving element of working out a puzzle which is unique to that particular formation of ice at that particular time. John did a sterling job of leading all three pitches without any drama, and being very patient while I followed inelegantly.

A few snowflakes had fallen while we climbed, but we eventually topped out into a bit of wind and quickly packed the gear away. Both of us struggling under the long-forgotten weight of a full winter pack, we headed north and descended from the col between Milldown and Corserine back into the forest.

The trudge back to the car wasn’t exactly fun but was efficient and got us back just as the light was fading. A brilliant first day.

After some R&R we returned the following morning for less climbing and more running. A thaw had begun at lower levels overnight so the snow was slushy and awkward as we climbed towards Corserine, then thick and awkward along the top. Also thick and awkward was the cloud, which meant we saw nothing from about 450 m upwards and enjoyed a proper whiteout briefly as we approached the summit trig point. With a full day of using rarely-recruited muscles the previous day I’ll confess I didn’t have much in my legs on the uphills.

Our route took us north-to-south over Corserine, Millfire, Milldown and Meikle Millyea, then swung east to Meikle Lump and back into the forest. I wasn’t sad to see the car, but it was good (in a punishing sort of way) to get two proper winter mountain days in back-to-back.

Massive thanks to Nick for his hospitality, and to John for agreeing to come along despite it being clear that I was going to put him on the sharp end of the climbing!