1999
Goalkeeper At Last
I previously mentioned one of my childhood dreams was to be a goalkeeper and whilst working for Unisys, the bit of my life between Munro bagging and visiting Canada, the opportunity to play in a five aside mini league came up. Growing in confidence I said that I was only prepared to participate if I could play the entire game in goal. Often in five aside the goal keeping position is used as a place for an outfield player to have a rest but this time I was determined to make it a position of my own. I started in my very average style of the odd reasonable save with a few fluffs along the way. In one match my donkey like style hit a new low when I dived for a save my left foot trod on my undone right shoelace. I fell to the ground in a heap a yard away from the point that the ball had entered the net but I don't think my team mates noticed the real reason why I fell so short of the ball.
Suddenly something switched in my brain, nobody had the right to score anymore. Previously I always held some strange belief that anybody coming at the goal with the ball had more right to score than I had to save it. But then I had a revelation, nobody had the right to put the ball in MY net and when a player came at me with the ball I would say to myself that 'you have no right to put that ball past me.' And it worked! After one game I was sitting in the dressing room recovering, feeling exhausted. We had won by something like 13-6 and I was just contemplating gathering the energy to strip for the shower when I overheard two guys chatting. "Shame about that game, we'd have been okay if we'd had a specialist goalkeeper like they did." Sitting there in my half drugged state of mind it took awhile to register the full impact of probably the best complement that I have ever been paid - best because it was totally unintended.
Waking Barbara
Another thing that happened during the winter was that my friend Steve Hampton contacted me to ask if I would be interested in climbing Ben More on Mull with him during the Easter break. I was quite keen on the idea and mentioned it to Barbara who said she would like to come along. Via some three way email conversation, with me as the central broker, we agreed to do it on Good Friday. I was working in Newcastle the week before so Barbara flew from Ottawa to Heathrow then onto Newcastle where I collected her. We spent a night in a hotel in Newcastle then a long drive to catch the 1600 ferry from Oban across to Mull. It was a bit touch and go but we made it in time for the crossing. Once on Mull we drove up to Tobermory where, having left the arrangements a bit loose, we were lucky to bump into Steve on the main street. The walk was then planned over a meal.
The following day was April the 2nd, Good Friday, and we started the walk just after 1000 from where the B8035 meets the Abhainn na h-Uamha stream which is the best route according to the guide books. The weather was good, in fact the best place to be in the British Isles that day. I managed the climb well as I had been playing five aside football and putting in some endurance walking over the previous weeks including walking from Great Bedwyn (my home) to Newbury one Sunday. However Barbara struggled a bit as she was jet lagged and therefore decided to drop out when we reached the col on the main ridge. Steve and I set off together leaving Barbara to walk back alone but safely as the start of the route was still in sight. The continuation of the walk was over quite rocky ground with some exposure and I would describe it as difficult walking terrain. We finally got ourselves to the top at 1435 for a few photographs to celebrate Steve's first Munro. This is a rare first Munro as it is the most frequent one to be left to last as it involves a sailing for just one Munro.
Whilst navigating to the summit I'd noticed that the map indicated that a trig point should be waiting for us. Sadly it was no more with just a hint of concrete to indicate its once existence. I reflected that I was glad that I had not done this in mist as trig points are useful indicators to show that one has indeed reached the summit, without it I would have been looking for higher ground.
Steve and I set off a different way down as we did not much fancy the return along the way we had ascended. We made a slight mistake of hitting some cliffs but managed to negotiate them slowly. At about this time we could see a group of cars parked further west than ours marking what would appear to be a lot simpler route up than the one we had taken. We returned to the car at a little after 1700 where upon Steve had to set straight off to get the ferry so I was left to myself wondering where on earth Barbara had got to. There was no evidence that she had got back to the car and I was left to ponder the dilemma for quite some time. When a middle aged couple walked past I asked if they had seen a Canadian Lady on their travels, just by luck they had spoken with Barbara about three hours before and she had been resting, still high up the mountain. With that I turned to look at the hills again and I could just make out a figure far in the distance and with binoculars, hastily loaned by the helpful couple, I was able to make out Barbara far in the distance. I thanked them for their help and put on my bright yellow gortex to go up and meet Barbara to check she was okay. When I reached her she was fine and had just been sleeping.
After this days walking we spent the next day driving around Mull and decided to take the ferry to Ulva, about a two minute crossing. We followed the signs and got to the quayside and there was a boat and a sign saying ferry to Ulva, £2.50. So we got on and the boat set off. When they started talking about safety equipment and the location of the toilets our suspicions arose. Barbara immediately started asking other passengers where we were going as I inspected the dirt on my shoes. We had strayed onto a four and a half hour sailing around the Treshnish Isles then down to Staffa. This was a lucky accident as the trip was wonderful with a walk into Fingal's Cave on Staffa. The following day we visited Iona and its abbey before catching the ferry back to the mainland.
Barbara and I then went to stay at the Ben Lawers hotel before having a lazy day prior to tackling An Stuc on April the 6th. An Stuc is the mountain that we failed to do on two attempts the previous year. From the ground it looked a good walk but we were late setting off at a little before 1100. We decided to take in the far end of the Ben Lawers ridge first which involves the Munros of Meall Greigh and Meall Garbh before reaching An Stuc. Barbara had not done these two but I had, however as it was a suitable route I accepted that it was necessary to repeat them. We headed straight up the south side of Meall Greigh and reached it after about two and a half hours of walking. The weather was good until about a half hour from the summit when the wind and rain really picked up. Barbara lagged me most of the way which was unusual and when we reached the summit I became suspicious when she hardly acknowledged her new Munro or perform her ritual of placing a rock on the cairn whilst saying "Ohm Mani Padmi Hum." I asked her if she was okay to go on and she said that she was. The wind was by now very strong and it was cold and wet. When we reached the col between Meall Greigh and Meall Garbh we were able to take some shelter from the wind and rain. Barbara still said that she was okay but I was unsure, she was unable to take the wrapper off of a cake bar and was very quiet. I suggested that we should call it a day but she replied that she was fine. I added that we would have at least two to three hours of this to go and that I had not failed to notice the difficulty she had had taking the wrapper off the cake bar. This jolted her into a rapid reassessment of her condition and she finally conceded that she should pull out. She wanted me to continue so I could bag An Stuc, normally I would have been okay but I felt uneasy leaving her. What had happened was that her Raynauds disease had kicked in which has various signs such as the loss of motor co-ordination, a reduction in core temperature and the inability to think straight. It also has the effect of not being able to remove the wrapper from a cake bar. So we returned back to the Ben Lawers hotel having let An Stuc get away for a third time.
The Cuillin Ridge Becomes The Ring Of Steall
The Isle Of Skye possesses the most dramatic and narrow ridge of Munros - the Cuillin Ridge. To be safe you require a safety rope and some basic rock climbing ability, neither of which I felt comfortable with. Reading the guidebooks filled me with terror and panic with such phrases 'this is no place to have a slip.' Therefore I decided to employ the services of a guide to open up the mysteries of the ridge to me and thus make it as safe as possible. I contacted a guide via email on the Internet and we arranged four days from July the 4th in which we would tackle the ridge together.
Unfortunately the guide turned out to be unprofessional and lost contact with me for about six weeks prior to the walk, with five days to go he emailed me from America saying that he could still try and find an alternative guide for me in Scotland. I thought about it for a day or so but got back to him and said that I had decided to give it a miss. I still really wanted to do it but as he had been out of contact I had not put myself in the right frame of mind or fitness for it. I had been very busy at work and was under a lot of pressure, if I had known the trip was still a possibility I would have got myself physically fit and mentally prepared myself for something that I would personally find quite daunting.
I still finished work at the end of June and pondered what to do with the time that I now had spare before flying out to see Barbara on July the 10th. It passed through my mind to still go to Scotland and just take in some Munros on my own. At this stage my Munro tally stood at 168 (116 left to do) and I thought that it would be a nice idea to get it down to the round 100. Gisella called me on the evening of July the 1st and I mused this idea with her. She knows me too well and said "Steve, why can't you just go to Scotland and just do some Munros and not worry about getting your total left down to a hundred. You put yourself under too much pressure, just go and enjoy it." I harrumphed a little and whilst getting ready for bed that night concluded that she was absolutely right. When I woke on July the 2nd I decided to drive to Scotland. I printed off my computerised list of things to take, always handy for packing in a panic, and bundled everything into my car and set off. I managed to pack in one hour, previously I have packed over a four day period.
I found the drive to Scotland tiresome and in just under ten hours I was approaching Crianlarich. With tent in car my intention was to rough camp in Glen Etive as I figured all the Youth Hostel accommodation would be taken by now. However on the off chance I called in at the hostel in Crianlarich and they had room. I booked in and enquired if they could do a fax ahead booking for Glen Nevis for the next two nights. I am behind the times for the Scottish Youth Hostel Association no longer do fax ahead and instead have their own Intranet from which you can book ahead from any one hostel to another, instantly and electronically. Long gone are the days of phoning through yourself and begging them to hold the bed for you until you arrive. I recognised the male warden at Crianlarich as Paul Ridley who had managed Killin Youth Hostel in 1996. I introduced myself and he remembered my stay and our attempts to fix the plumbing system there.
That evening I went for a beer at a pub in Crianlarich. I was just finishing my pint when a middle aged chap, who I had previously assumed was just a drunk at the bar, started his music act. He fiddled with his knobs and buttons and strummed his guitar for a little while then started to ask where people were from. There were some Irish and some Swedes. When he asked me I replied "Marlborough in Wiltshire." "Ah English" he replied, "we'll let you stay for one song before we kick you out." Hilarious I thought. I stayed for one song and left. He was trying to be funny but there was the undertone of the hatred there, which is something I find hard to accept and to deal with. The day before was the opening of the new Scottish Parliament and obviously this guy saw that as not an opportunity to put old grievances and prejudices behind him. Although Scottish history is important to the Scots, and important within British history, they run the risk of wrapping themselves up in it so much that they forget to lead their own lives. I fear that Scotland can't adjust to the modern way of trying to put grievances behind oneself and move on. Within the Scottish nation there are massive divisions, for example: Glasgow v Edinburgh, Rangers v Celtic, Protestant v Catholic, Highlander v Lowlander, MacDonald v Campbell. I believe Scotland can never love its neighbour until it truly loves itself. I followed the run up to the voting on the Scottish parliament and watched one programme where the cameras went onto the streets of Glasgow and interviewed young people, asking how they were going to vote. Of course the broadcast could have been unfairly edited but most interviewed were going to vote for the Scottish Nationalist Party (SNP) and consistently gave one of two reasons being hatred of the English or the film 'Braveheart.' Based on this I asked my friend Graham, a Scot, if he was brought up on his milk to hate the English. He replied "yes." I find this both interesting and alarming, it is like giving birth on the battlefield, the children can see nothing but war and are therefore bound to just repeat it. There is a famous quotation that is something along the lines of 'He who ignores history is bound to repeat it' from which one might conclude that the Scots are justified in remembering their past. From my experiences of travelling in Scotland I feel that this quote could be expanded to 'He who is angered by history is bound to recreate it.'
Don't get me wrong here, Scotland is a great nation which its people can justly be proud of. The number of inventions that have come out of Scotland is just staggering and to conclude this little interlude on my soapbox I'd like to blatantly thieve and re-package Orson Welles' words from the film 'The Third Man':
In Scotland for centuries living next to the English they had warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed - but they went on to produce the logarithm, the television, the inventor of the telephone, the pneumatic tyre, the thermos flask (ever wondered why they are tartan), the steam engine, the mackintosh, Dolly the Sheep and much, much more. In Switzerland they had brotherly love, 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.
Saturday July the 3rd brought in my first Munros of this short trip and to break myself in gently I walked for eleven hours taking in the four Munros of what is known as the Ring of Steall. Steall is a ruin far up Glen Nevis that lends its name to the horseshoe of Munros in whose shadow it lies. It was great to pull all my kit on and set off. Work had been hectic and the drive up was tiring on the motorway and I could swear that there was far more commercialism in the service stations. Just to go for a wee you had to turn down the kind invitation to take out another credit card and to join the AA. Presumably you could take out the credit card and three steps later use it to purchase full AA membership. Having both an AA card and a credit card already I felt totally justified in barely acknowledging either opportunity to radically improve my life by such a purchase. And why is it always some middle aged bloke selling the AA membership and some gorgeous looking female selling the credit card? Is it the case that a chap is more trustworthy with your big end but when it comes to your flexible friend only a Miss World beauty contestant will do? Presumably Madison Avenue would have the answers of target market and the feelings of purchaser comfort. It reminds me of my first week in halls of residence as an undergraduate - just 18 living in Brighton and away from home for the first time. Lazing on my bed one evening, well it was fresher week, and a young woman knocked on my propped open door and asked to come in. I said okay and in she came and shut the door behind her. Wey-Hey I thought it is all true, women just come knocking on your door begging you to have sex with them in halls. After twenty minutes of hard sell I finally got rid of her narrowly avoiding taking out the once in a lifetime insurance policy that was guaranteed to buy me a house when I graduated for the price of a jar of coffee a week.
My head was a buzz as I headed off down the path towards Steall. The air was so fresh and clear and noises were suddenly natural and not mechanical, it took me a few minutes to adjust. To start the Ring Of Steall the Water of Nevis had to be crossed. A bridge, marked on the map, was my preferred crossing point but when I got there it was a three wire affair in which you walk on one wire whilst holding onto the other two. I did not feel comfortable taking this on because if I had slipped the water was deep enough to drown in so I walked further on and managed to find a crossing point near to a beautiful waterfall. This involved leaping from rock to rock and paddling through some shallow bits. Once navigated I found a path up onto the ridge of the Ring Of Steall and reached An Gearanach at noon. By this time it was raining and I was surrounded by cloud. I pressed on round to Stob Coire a' Chairn then reached the third Munro of the day, Am Bodach, about six hours into the walk. Here my camera failed on me and thus began my first sequence of Munros without photographs of the summits. This was a blessing in disguise as photographing each summit was often an obsession which necessitated extracting my camera from the rucksack in often severe conditions to take a picture of a pile of rocks surrounded by mist for my friends and family to ask "So why do you put in all that effort to get there?"
After a further hour the weather improved and I reached Sgorr an Iubhair which used to be a Munro but has now been relegated to a subsidiary top of Am Bodach. I was aware that a ridge existed between this and the final Munro of the day. My guidebook had mentioned it was narrow and another walker said a book that he had read described it as 'entertainingly narrow.' Entertainingly for whom I thought, the walker or the observer? Initially the ridge felt fine, no more difficult than many other ridges. Then it opened up in front of me. A ridge about two to three feet wide kerbed each side by instant death. 'Well I'm here now' I thought and set off with my heart beating fast and my mind trying to keep the lid on the boiling pot of panic and determined to not cut short my clock tick of existence. I guess it lasted for some twenty minutes of just trying to concentrate on the few feet ahead and not playing tag with my subconscious or taking too much notice of the large drops either side. Most ridges just have instant death on one side and are therefore very safe in that you just keep to one side; there was little margin for error on this beast. At the end of the most difficult section there was a rock face to lower myself down, only the height of a room but a little daunting with the exposure. My rucksack became a liability as it kept snagging as I tried to lower myself so I took it off and tied it to one of my trekking poles and lowered it to a ledge and collected it once I had negotiated the descent myself. I reached the final Munro of Sgurr a' Mhaim in thick cloud and opted for the safest route off, hitting the Glen Nevis road some forty five minute walk from my car.
I was very slow on this descent as my knees were both complaining bitterly about the day of abuse that they had just gone through. I got talking to a couple of chaps that had done the same walk as me and had caught me up having done it in seven hours (the upper book time) whereas I had taken eleven hours. They were surprised at my time and I just casually said that I was a dawdler. After I had parted from them it struck me that three years before I would have been embarrassed by my time and made excuses about taking long breaks, one year ago I would have played the asthma card to silence any criticism whereas now I was comfortable enough to cast it all off with a "yeah, I'm a dawdler."
