illustration), and on the Central Buttress (marked c), we finally resolved to try what could be done with the great "Post" (marked b), which runs up the centre of the precipice. It was, of course, filled with snow, and though the upper part appeared excessively steep, we did not anticipate any insuperable difficulty in its line of ascent, and had the weather been favourable for our attempt, I do not think any such difficulty would have been found. But the air was warm and muggy, and in the lower regions the thaw was proceeding apace. The snow consequently was far from being in good order, and we soon found ourselves sinking to the knees in it at every step. But still it held, and trusting to find it grow firmer as we got further up, we kept on, taking advantage of an occasional rocky islet to relieve our going.

Traces of avalanche action were visible on every side of us. Immediately to our left a broad groove or channel three or four feet deep, with hard smoothly polished bottom and sides, indicated the main path of the falling snow; and down this at intervals, with sinister hiss, glided a stream of fragments from the cliffs above. Still, these discharges were too insignificant to trouble us much at first, and cutting our way across the course of these tiny streams, we kept on until the condition of the snow, which had been gradually growing worse, brought us to a complete halt. We were now rather more than half-way to the top, and had reached a position beneath the point where the "post" assumes the character of a real chimney. On this steep slope the incoherency of the snow made further progress quite impossible. The axe-head slid through the treacherous stuff as if it had been so much sawdust. It absolutely refused to afford further foothold. A struggle of a quarter of an hour failed to advance the leader a single yard in any direction, and we finally found ourselves compelled to retrace our steps. This, however, we did the less reluctantly, as we had noticed for some time that the snow from above had been falling much more frequently and in larger quantities than had been the case earlier in the day.

As it happened, we did not turn a moment too soon.

We had not descended many yards, when a loud crash above our heads announced that something like a real avalanche had fallen. The regular channel proving too small to hold it, it came sweeping past us on both sides. One large erratic block of snow, flying over the first two members of the party, struck Raeburn fairly on the head, while the smaller fragments which followed covered his head and shoulders as he lay prone upon the steep slope. Fortunately the snow was quite soft, so that no harm was done. It was as a hint that the incident impressed us most strongly. The nature of the work prevented us making any great speed in our descent; but we had safely recrossed the avalanche track, and, sheltered as we thought by an island of rock from any flying shot, were going our best, when again came the bang! crash! of the falling cornice. An upward glance showed us that once again the snow had burst its narrow bounds. Several large blocks appeared shooting directly over our protecting rock. I had barely time to throw myself face downwards, firmly grasping the shaft of my axe, which was buried almost to the head as an anchor to Douglas, when I received almost simultaneously three heavy blows on the head, back, and ribs. The following rush of loose snow, though exerting considerable pressure, I managed to withstand easily enough; nevertheless, it was with a feeling of relief that I felt it ease off sufficiently to enable me to stand upright. This was fortunately our last experience of assault and battery at the hands of the ill-disposed Spirits of the Post, for in a few minutes we were beyond reach of their attack. But for the fact, however, that it was white, soft, recently fallen snow which was peeling off from the rocks and cornices above, the consequences must undoubtedly have been serious.

The following day matters were very much worse. The older snow was then coming down mixed with earth, stones, and all kinds of detritus. We saw one large mass of cornice, carrying with it great blocks of rock, sweep directly over our own track. Had we been there when that torrent swept down it, the most appropriate name for that particular post would have been, as one of the party

remarked with grim jocularity, Post Mortem. The author of this atrocity was promptly asked to give the couloir a chance of qualifying for such a striking name by making another attempt on it. It is needless to say that, flattered as he felt at such a request, he resolutely refused to sacrifice himself on the altar of Nomenclature.

After descending for some distance it seemed easy enough to reach the top of the cliffs by the Pinnacle Ridge if we could strike the crest of the latter above its lower vertical part. Traversing, therefore, to the right over alternate patches of rock and snow, we scrambled down into the great gully which separates the Pinnacle Ridge from the central face of the corrie. Here, too, were abundant traces of falling snow, so keeping as much out of the direct line of missiles as possible, we ploughed our way upwards for some distance, and were soon able to cross the broad flank of the ridge to its edge. From this point to the foot of the pinnacle our progress was a simple and easy walk. The pinnacle itself, however, is quite another matter. From below, and in the condition

in which we saw it, it appeared a very hard nut to crack. With efficient backing of the pyramid order I think it might be successfully tackled. But it certainly looks formidable, and as we had not too much time at our disposal, we left it for a more favourable opportunity—or for a more favoured party.

The precipice to the left of the pinnacle over which the climber would be almost hanging is, I should say, one of the most vertical I have ever seen on a mountain. A black face of about a thousand feet in height, it as nearly approaches the perpendicular throughout the whole of that distance as one could wish to see, and more resembles one of the great sea cliffs of Shetland or St Kilda than most things of the kind to be seen in a mountain corrie.

Our return to Dalwhinnie was varied by a visit to the mountain named Creag nan Adhaircean in the O.S. map. As none of us can fairly be considered adepts in the pronunciation of Gaelic-especially when it is conducted on the "look and say" principle-this name caused us some trouble at first. But once the O.S. spelling was boldly

disregarded, and the well-known and easily remembered variation “Hairpin" adopted in its stead, things went quite smoothly.

Our design in making this detour was partly to view the remarkable gorges which cut the mountain off on two sides from hill and moor alike, partly to interview a peregrine which was known to one of the party to have his nest in the neighbourhood. Although we examined closely only the smaller of the two gorges, we found it an extraordinary place, and one which, as the guide-books say, "well repays the trouble of a visit." As for the falcon, his lordship, though at home, was shy. He repeatedly showed himself, but seemed to have decided objection to any very close communication. This in his case was only natural, as only two days before a dastardly attempt had been made upon his life, and he had learned to distrust the race of men.

The S.M.C. has still much work to do in the education of those who dwell by the side of lone Loch Laggan. Axe and rope are still to them a source of puzzled wonderment. One garrulous old fellow, on catching his first glimpse of the axe, ventured the interrogatively humorous remark-" That will be the same battle-axe that Bonaparte himsel' had?" While another worthy no less inquisitive remembered a "theologist" who used to "go on the hulls wi' a thing like that an' pick oot the ferns wi' it, roots an' a'." He accordingly at once set us down as three "theologists." But a sight of the ropes quickly changed his views, and he hurriedly left us with the fervently expressed hope that we "were were no a' in the Calcraft business." As these were only types, it will be seen that a visit to Creag Meaghaidh has charms for others than the pure Ultramontane. To the Salvationist it should prove a perfect paradise. He can wander there for miles and bag top after top without ever descending below the 3,000 feet level. In a word, I advise my fellow-clubmen, who do not already know the district, to set apart a couple of days for it at the earliest possible opportunity, and I live in the hope of reaping a rich harvest of thanks from those of them who follow my advice.