‘The detached boulder may be identified with certainty by noticing that it is imbedded in the Rake’s Progress close to the top of a funnel-shaped grassy gully about ten or twelve yards from Mickledore. None but experienced climbers should attempt the North Climb from the Mickledore.’ SCAWFELL CHIMNEY.--A year after our first sorry attempt on Broad Stand Dr. S. and I were being shown the merits of Cust’s gully on Great End as a school for step-cutting, by an enthusiastic wielder of the ice-axe, Mr. C. G. Monro. Neither of us knew much about the subject, but it was pleasant to be well instructed, and on reaching the summit of Great End we wondered where we could cut steps next. Monro suggested an adjournment for lunch at Mickledore and a subsequent passage up the doubtless snow-filled chimney: to which we all agreed. On reaching the chimney, Monro took the lead and hopefully ploughed through heavy wet snow as a preliminary. Unfortunately, the snow became softer and deeper as we advanced, until at last we were up to our waists in slush, and wet through. The pitch was not very far to seek. We saw long dripping icicles barring our direct route onwards. Both sides of the gully were heavily glazed with wet ice, and we foresaw an anxious time of waiting while the leader prospected. At the time we were not aware that the usual exit was upon the right-hand side of the pitch, by a couple of easy broad ledges. Nor could we see that the pitch was in two parts, cave upon cave, with a large resting-place between; for the icicles hung in an impenetrable curtain. Monro attacked the icicles valiantly. Twice he succeeded in working half way up between the centre and left wall, but twice he was repulsed vigorously, and found himself landed in the snow below. I was getting cold and impatient. Monro was willing to take a breathing space. I unroped and made for the left wall. Cutting little steps for hands and feet in the ice that covered the wall, and using the fingers for all they were worth, in some ungainly fashion I reached the level of the top of the pitch and traversed on to the snow above. The axe had been used, I suspect, more like a croquet mallet than anything else, and introduced its own particular dangers. But it was of no consequence, the pitch was climbed, and the shivering pair below tried to fling up the rope to me. This was a matter of much difficulty, placed as we were, but by approaching each other as far as we dared, a happy fling brought the end of the rope to my hand, and I responded by throwing down, to their extreme peril, the ice-axe that they needed to effect their ascent. We managed the rest badly. My position was insecure in the upper snow of the gully, or at any rate it seemed to be so. The others were benumbed with cold and wet, unable to feel the holds or to rely on getting any help from me. We certainly were not a strong party, and there was no possibility of mutual aid. The only consolation was