The past catches up

Many, many years ago, back in those pre-family days, my life hinged around climbing and mountaineering, the higher and steeper the better. My work had taken me to live in the city of Liverpool and I would spend most weekends roaming the hills of Wales or else some of the rather bigger ones in Scotland. Glencoe was always a favourite of mine, a place where whichever way you turn the mountains rise up steeply and shout 'climb me!' Ropes, carabiners and slings were the tools of my trade, so to speak, together with the language that went with them. Phrases like 'on belay', ' a bit thin', 'hand jam', came as second nature to me and there were even occasions when I might have got a bit 'gripped' myself if the 'exposure' became too much.

Eventually life moved on for me and I took up other adventurous pastimes, still enjoying the mountains but less keen on the steeper craggy bits. Then, completely out of the blue around forty years later, I was contacted by someone I used to climb with all those years ago! My thoughts go back straight away to a climb he and I did together on the north face of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Scotland. Hundreds of tourists must climb this peak each year; there is a well worn track that rises up from the glen which suffers from human traffic jams if the weather is right. But that is one of the big issues - the weather. You might start the long climb in scorching sunshine but the weather four thousand feet higher will never be the same. It will be significantly colder, to start with, windier and there's a good chance that the summit will be in cloud with moisture pouring out of it. I am, of course, referring here to the summer, which is important, because when we climbed the north face it was in winter.

Ben Nevis is essentially a long rocky ridge, enabling a relatively easy route to be established from one end. As you approach the summit, however, you will become aware that there is a steep cliff to one side, the north face, which it pays to stay well clear of. In winter the summit will always have snow on it and the north face, which never sees the sun, will have gullies full of vertical ice sheets and an overhanging cornice of frozen snow at the top.

 

Tower Ridge in Summer

Tower Ridge splits the north face, starting in the corrie below and rising like a jagged-edged dagger all the way to the top. Even in Winter the lower part, which is very steep, can be almost clear of snow and ice but as you get higher, this is what you must negotiate. Crampons are strapped onto the boots so that the spikes grip the ice and each foothold needs to be tested before applying too much weight in case the ice should break. At the top, where the ridge meets the summit, the snow can be treacherous and with summit cloud this will mean that after reaching the top the difficulties are not over yet. Finding a route down, in deep snow and with poor visibility, means using a compass and following guidebook instructions since even the large cairns marking the footpath can be hard to find.

All these recollections were triggered by a single message but I then discover that this friend from the past, Tony, is still a keen mountaineer and will soon be in Scotland for a walking holiday. So we arrange to meet up. Will I still recognise this person who I have not seen for so long?

It was at this point that I remembered the box of  photographic slides that had been stored away for so long, moving with us from house to house over the years but never seeing the light of day. To view these one needs a slide projector, something we no longer possess, but thankfully there are now other ways by which the images can be captured in a modern digital form. Perhaps I might use these photos to jog my memory of climbing friends from the past, although possibly at the risk of scaring my modern self when I look back over some of the crazy things I used to do. As it turned out I did have some pictures of my friend Tony from long ago.

And in the end it was a real delight to meet up with him after all these years, together with his wife Pauline. We simply could not stop talking about our different lives, where we had lived and worked, the varied experiences that had brought us to where we are today and we were delighted to discover we shared so much in common (well maybe not the sailing). Our shared meal together was simply not time enough - we could have gone on forever - but another meet up will inevitably follow at some point.