The gully is narrow at first. Its walls are red in colour, and a film of water generally covers them. The holds are not particularly good, and the steepness of the gully renders extreme caution necessary. Both walls are used, and our advance is after the fashion of a man on a ladder. Then the gully widens, and the difficulties come in successive steps till a great overhanging boulder blocks the direct ascent. Here the right wall is sufficiently broken to offer a method of circumventing the pitch, but in wet weather the place is bad. Just above this I found a stick, conclusive evidence to the simple mind that the hard bit of the Great Gully was now being approached. It looked as though it had been there for years. The view backwards was most impressive, the tarn appearing almost beneath my feet. The second obstacle was now to be considered. The gully narrowed to a thin vertical corner plastered over with wet green moss. The take-off was earthy and disagreeably loose. The only holds were on the right wall near the corner, and were few and far between. I hesitated below for a long time, scarcely knowing how best to start operations. A big jammed stone came away in my hands as I made a first attempt, and crashed down the gully from side to side. At last I rammed the left knee tentatively into the wet corner, and edged up a few feet with the aid of sundry slight supports for the right foot. Ten feet higher an excellent hold was reached with the hand, and the chief trouble was over. Huge boulders were piled overhead confusedly, but they gave plenty of opportunities, and no longer had the smooth, almost shiny surface that characterized the rocks further down. The top of the gully was reached three quarters of an hour after starting. It was half-past five, and snow was beginning to fall; I thought it desirable to hurry, and a steady trot westwards round the head of Langdale Combe and the further side of Black Crags brought me in three miles to the path at the Angle Tarn and the foot of the up-grade towards Esk Hause. Thence a steady two hours’ walk in the dark brought me safely to Wastdale, in happy ignorance of the fact that I had only visited the Little Gully. But to this day I think it as hard as its neighbour. THE GREAT GULLY.--Shortly after Easter, 1896, I begged some friends to come over and climb the Great Gully with me. It was my last day at Wastdale; I was due at Coniston the same evening, and the Langdale Pikes offered a pleasanter walk to the Old Man district than is given by the Eskdale and Cockley Beck route. My friends stipulated that we should call a halt at Kern Knotts on the way out and attempt the ‘crack.’ This we managed with expedition, and continued the journey betimes over the Styhead and Esk Hause.