Dave Wylie, Tony Gask, Andrew Croughton, Mary Stuart, Dave Bone, Al Metelko, Andrew Sykes, Dave Whittingham, Roger Mapleson, Mark Garrod, Michelle Harvie, Colin Maddison, Keith Todd, Pete Leeson, Sabina Cosulich, John McDonald, Eimear Kilcoyne?, Cathy Devine, Jeremy Engineer, Nicky Devons, Craig Marsden, Chris Williamson.

Last year we were snowless in Roy Bridge. January is, after all, a fickle month when it comes to the white stuff. Mid February ought to be a good bet, I'd thought. Hmmm. Not quite. The gullies had suffered a week of category three and four on the Richter Scale. Time to head for the rocks.

Three of us conspired to make for The Ben. Saturday morning, our early start provoked another team to stir. They'd elected for a traverse of the Aonach Eagach. John Mc, Eimear, Roger, Craig, Nicky, Al and Dave Wylie did the two car shuffle. They enjoyed a great day, on a classical outing, with only the usual hold-ups where queues form.

Others, I gather, later headed for Creag Meagaidh and a walking tour of the horse-shoe. A line that kept them safely above this year's fantastic avalanche potential. Mind you, there can't be much need for a transponder when you're out with the chattering crowd. By all accounts, Sabina, Peter, Cathy, Mary, Michelle, Mark and Jeremy had a good day out, too. Also on Meagaidh was our very own 'Window' cleaning team: Keith and Andrew. The guys took a slightly more adventurous route to the summit.

Dave Bone took Dave Whittingham Corbett bagging in the Monadh Liath. Their return trek being enlivened by fallen timber on the track. Where did Tony Gask get to? Tony, where are you? Phone home!

Meanwhile, back to the long flog in. Without 'frique or funicular it was Shanks's up the Allt a' Mhuilinn to the CIC. Must have been something of a culture shock to the Frogs and Wops who were amongst the crowd gathered there. (Explanatory note in the enlightened age free of prejudice - Frogs and Wops is a derogatory term for continental climbers. Especially the sort who unclip your gear and try to pick fights, at four thousand metres, on airy alpine pinnacles. Not that I bare a grudge, mind you.) Anyhow, turns out that Andy Perkins was running a BMC International Meet.

Tower Ridge was getting a big mention amongst the parties regrouping outside the hallowed walls. Consequently, our very own Monsieur Le Guide, Colin Maddison, suggested we avoid the crowds and subsequent benightment by heading for Castle Ridge. A while wading the white fluff and we were on our way. Wading was swapped for climbing. It's rather interesting trying to determine what's buried under twelve inches of cotton wool; actually, a fair bit of granite slab but with just enough frozen turf to prevent an early demise. Colin got to lead the first serious, and disconsolately bare, pitch. He was, as they say, gone some time. This left Andrew Croughton to contemplate his initiation into Scottish winter climbing of the mixed variety. Eventually though, on the shout from above, the man very ably circumvented the small roof above our stance and disappeared from sight. I was a little concerned, however, by the showers of sparks that then ensued. This mingled with some heavy grunting and the sound crampon points endeavouring to find purchase on blank granite. My turn next. Again, the roof dealt with. Then, revelation. A big, steep corner, blank but for a poorly iced crack at the apex. The only other feature - a thin crack barely the width of a pick blade. Herein, Colin assured me, lay the secret to ascent. It was merely a question of pulling up, arm over arm, by finding purchase in the thin crack with the axes. He also, subsequently, admitted to having expressed concern about parental responsibilities. This may explain why he later committed one of Nora's axes to the void, or maybe it did just slide off his wrist.

As to the rest of the route - very enjoyable despite the conditions, though things were, thankfully, a little more consolidated towards the top. Andrew completed his initiation, with darkness falling not long after we'd topped out. Anyhow, it's a route well worth doing and if you already have, you'll know what I mean. Saturday night turned into something of a Ceilidh. Though not quite the sort of event you might see billed in the Roy Bridge and Achluachrach Parish Herald. More of a sing-song with 'Guitar Leeson'.

T'was a rafter raising session. Peter's volume control doesn't drop below fortissimo these days. I'm sure the instrument must be well reinforced. In support of the main man were the 'Karabinetts'. This being the first time the lassies had performed together (or even practised anywhere). Anyhow, the evening rolled on. The majority of the gathering knew none of the words to the songs. The Karabinettes only knew half the words to the songs - the out of key half... By the time the laddie brought his fiddle out, for the second time in the evening, there was something of a rush for the pub and a fine pint of Seventy Shilling.

Sunday arrived to the accompaniment of the rain beating a tattoo on the window. A typical Highland Sunday. Doubtless a joy to the Calvinists. Leeson led a walk into the gale. Colin declared tedium and bailed out below the snowline. It could well have been the Peak District apart from the absence of that well known leader of extreme Dark Peak grade V walks? Mark and Michelle headed onto the hill next door. For reasons unspecified they failed to change the colour of one of the 277 pins that Mark has stuck into a map on his living-room wall. Sad people? Answers on a postcard... Again, others went to other places. But, of this I have no record. Where did the elusive Mr Gask get to?

Finally, the disgraceful story of the CIC. The boys got no further than the lay-by. Some wafty story about week-long storms being forecast, with the avalanche category being stuck on four and temperatures drifting to double digits Celsius of the positive flavour. It's high time that we looked into the acceptance criteria for membership.

... and next year. Roy Bridge V. A weekend of Scottish country dancing creative writing and Gaelic poetry reading.