The Blind Man of Hoy Read online

  The trouble with the Peak District is that it offers limited possibilities for winter climbing, driving its guides to higher ground to earn an honest crust. Even in the Swiss Alps, mountains and glaciers present an obstacle to mobile and broadband access which made my efforts to track these guys down feel more like a Yeti hunt.

  One by one I ran them to ground, only to cross their name off the list. Each was either busy until mid-April or already booked on other work during June. And all the time, to add to our frustration, the rain bucketed down across Britain in the wettest spring for 100 years, washing away any chance of climbing outdoors.

  With news of the final guide’s regretful apology Martin swung into action.

  Dear Red

  I am sorry that both Dave and James have effectively pulled out of this venture; but it makes things simpler. My company will organise guides and logistics for both training and the Old Man climb.

  I will arrange a guide who is based in North Wales to provide training days (either in Snowdonia or the Peak) and will try to ensure that he can come up to Hoy to guide the climb as well to provide the required continuity. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have this organised.

  I will also be available in April in Scotland to provide rock climbing up here over a long weekend if you can spare the time to come north.

  I think you can easily manage with just two guides on Hoy. To be honest two guides can work much better as a team than three. One of the guides can do the Old Man a second time if your supporting friends want to complete the climb as well.

  For the Old Man climb we have booked Rackwick Hostel from Tues 18th to Fri 21st June. We have exclusive use of the hostel and the price is c£70 per night.

  Travel days will be Tues 18th and Sat 22nd. On Tues 18th we will take the evening ferry from Scrabster to Stromness dep 19.00 and on Sat 22nd the mid-morning ferry that departs Stromness 11.00 arr Scrabster 12.30. That means that you need to be in Inverness early afternoon on the 18th and plan a late-afternoon/early-evening return flight to London on the 22nd.

  Suggested schedule would be:–

  Tues June 18th: meet Inverness 14.00, drive to Scrabster (3hr), take evening ferry to Stromness; dinner, B&B in Stromness

  Wed June 19th: take car ferry to Hoy (dep Houton 09.25); drive to Rackwick Hostel; walk to Old Man and recce approach

  Thurs and Fri June 20th and 21st: Climb the Old Man

  Sat June 22nd: car ferry to mainland (dep Lyness 09.00); ferry to Scrabster 11.00 arr 12.30; drive to Inverness with airport drop-off at 15.30.

  Please get in touch if you have any questions. I look forward to receiving your booking and to making the commitment to get the project up and running.

  Best regards

  MARTIN MORAN

  We had lost an entire month waiting both for replies and for the weather to improve. I’d still got no closer to a rock face than climbing at Brunel and was no nearer receiving confirmation that my dream of following in Joe Brown’s footsteps was not pure folly. For once my frustration rivalled Matthew’s.

  I reread the email; weighing up the options and marvelling at the level of fitness Martin and his guides must maintain to propose that one of them should effectively climb each pitch twice in order to lead Matthew and Andres up behind us.

  After a cup of tea and a quick chat with my wife, I picked up the phone and had the conversation with Martin that I suspected he thought we should have had in the first place.

  ‘Hi, Martin, it’s Red. Look, thanks for the email. To be perfectly honest Snowdonia’s no good for me because I’m completely reliant on public transport. I think I’d be best off catching a plane up to Inverness and meeting you there. That way we can have a few days climbing together and you can see firsthand exactly what I can and can’t do.’

  ‘Great. I’ll have a think and come back to you with an itinerary. When were you thinking of?’

  The dates fitted neatly with his schedule and I sensed a relief that mirrored my own. Within a month the uncertainty that hung over the whole endeavour would finally be removed and each of us could get on with making plans for the summer.

  11

  Highland Fling

  ‘People ask me, ‘What is the use of climbing Mount Everest?’ and my answer must at once be, ‘It is of no use.’ There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever. . . . If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won’t see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to live. That is what life means and what life is for.’

  – George Mallory

  Chief among my reasons for not going to Tenerife with Kate and the kids is the dent in my enjoyment of unfamiliar places caused by the inevitable flurry of accidents that befall me in the first few days of orientating myself. So, for the past couple of years, I’d encouraged the girls to take their annual foreign holiday without me. Laura and Meg get some quality mummy-time and the three of them are freed from being constantly vigilant for a grumpy daddy who feels thoroughly dislocated and guilty for wrecking everyone’s holiday.

  If I’m going to twist an ankle or get covered in cuts and bruises I’d prefer to do so on my own terms, without a concerned audience and undertaking an activity I enjoy. Kate was happy that I wouldn’t be sitting at home (or in the pub) beating myself up over my lack of progress on the novel and reassured that I’d be climbing with someone as professional and well-qualified as Martin. Having seen the ascents he listed on his website she, her parents and my Dad all felt confident that I was in expert hands and was most likely to return in one piece.

  Their only real concern was that I would be disappointed if I didn’t make the grade. The thought was no stranger to my mind either but I reasoned that it was better to know one way or the other. I was sick of hanging in limbo, my plans to get to the Peaks with Matthew, Andres and the Rusty Peg Climbing Club (who centred around Swiss) constantly thwarted by the crap weather. Booking the air-ticket to Inverness and getting my kit together felt like taking control of a situation that had been allowed to drift for too long.

  Besides, Martin had clearly put some thought into creating an itinerary that would be both fun and challenging during which I would be well-supported.

  Dear Red

  I have arranged a second guide for the Old Man climb. Nick Carter is a qualified MIC instructor living in Inverness, who climbs at a high standard and has done the Old Man several times. Nick has worked for me over several years and is an ideal man for the task.

  If you arrive on Tues April 2nd at 11am we can go straight out and do some climbing that afternoon. That means you can get the three days’ climbing and return to London on Fri 5th.

  Nick is available on Tues 2nd and Thurs 4th, I can do all three days and my son Alex will help me on Wed 3rd. Alex is himself a qualified mountain instructor.

  Plan would probably be to climb on the outdoor sports crag at Moy on Tuesday, then we would climb on a sandstone outcrop on Wednesday doing crack climbs, and if the weather is good and all is going well, we will try the classic Cioch Nose of Applecross on Thursday. This is a big multi-pitch route which involves a steep approach and lots of scrambling so would be a perfect dry run for the Old Man.

  We have arranged two nights’ accommodation for you in Lochcarron at Pathend B&B on Tues 2nd and Wed 3rd. The proprietor Adrian Elliman works for us as cook on our Scottish courses and we will ask if he can make your evening meals.

  After climbing on Thursday Nick will drive you back to Inverness and he has booked you into Ardlair Guest House. You can arrange to eat out at nearby restaurants on Thurs evening.

  I am much looking forward to the three days with you.

  Best regards

  MARTIN

  I had heard of Applecross before. The pass
formed the second highest road in Britain and gave my vertigo-suffering mother-in-law kittens when she had to drive over it. The great Tom Patey who, with Chris Bonington and Rusty Baillie, had made the first ascent of the Old Man of Hoy in 1966, on completing his conquest of the Cioch Nose, had written ‘what a magnificent climb! It was the Diff to end all Diffs!’

  I went surfing, found half a dozen climbing logs on it and Moy Crag and began to read hungrily.

  When viewing other people’s accounts of climbs they have completed, it is as well to remember that the vast majority of accompanying photos will have been taken from an angle that cannot fail to make the rock look more impressively perpendicular than it actually is, and which often obscures the smaller features that make the ascent possible.

  The up-face shots of The Cioch Nose, especially the one of a solo climber stepping un-roped round a corner bulge and seemingly into space, made the wall look far more daunting than its 4a grading. Both that and the website I found about Moy Crag gave me that twinge of vertigo I always get when I see others climb but have no idea of their level of competence.

  If I felt any anxiety at my own physical preparedness it was subsumed by concerns about my material readiness when, six days before the trip I received the following message from Martin:

  Weather is very cold here but bone dry and the snow-line is well up the hill. We must hope it is a bit warmer come next week but we can definitely rock climb in current conditions.

  Bring warm kit and full shell garments, including one pair of warm gloves/mittens and one pair of durable gloves for abseiling and belaying.

  We will try to give you a rough or steep approach walk on one of the days as a tester for the Old Man approach (eg the Cioch Nose has a 90 minute approach) so bring walking boots and trekking poles.

  Bring some snacks for the first day. Adrian will provide some packed lunch for the second and third days. Bring your thermos – Adrian will fill it for you.

  ‘Bloody hell’ I thought, ‘it must be bitter if a man who has spent half his life in the Alps and Himalayas says ‘the weather is very cold’!’

  I’d been keeping a wary eye on the forecast around Inverness, happy to note that rain was nowhere to be seen and the temperature was well above freezing. A quick investigation of the map revealed that Applecross lay on the opposite side of The Highlands and, while equally dry, was many degrees chillier.

  Matthew had foreseen some of this and bought me a mixed bag of what he called ‘bonk bars and spunk’ – high energy cereal bars and power gels aimed at delivering a huge carb and sugar boost just when you feel your head drop and are convinced you can’t go on. Designed for ultra-marathons and the like, they made me feel a bit of a fraud as I packed them in beside the family pack of Snickers that I had equipped myself with. Still, like the Jumars, it was good to know that they lay in reserve.

  He had also lent me a good thick fleece and a pair of old ski-gloves that he said he didn’t mind me wrecking. But this didn’t sound like it would be enough.

  Technical clothing is expensive and I was reluctant to borrow anything I’d be worried about damaging. Swiss is so cold in the winter that I already had thermal tops and longjohns to go under the excellent climbing trousers and Gore-Tex anorak that Kate had given me as birthday and Christmas presents, but the need to source ‘shell garments’ played on my mind.

  I was running on a tight budget and things kept cropping up. My experience at Brunel coupled with a hole in the old pair had forced me into buying new climbing shoes and this with the necessity for a helmet and the cost of the trip to Inverness, meant I really couldn’t afford to rush out and buy high-cost items that I may only ever wear once. Fortunately Cole and Oxfam came to my rescue.

  I’d hoped to borrow a down jacket from Swiss. The ones used by the instructors were torn and patched already and I reckoned the weather had warmed up enough in London that they could do without one of them for a long-weekend. Cole felt that he couldn’t loan High Sports property but was happy to lend me a bright yellow one of his own that fitted as if it had been tailored for me.

  ‘Cole, I can’t possibly. This must be a £200 jacket.’

  ‘Hey, fuck it man. Someone’s gotta put a hole in it sometime. Just don’t smoke anywhere near it, okay?’

  Determined not to let anything near it, I went shopping for something to wear over it. In the Oxfam shop at the end of my road I found a brand new shell fleece (still with its tags) for a tenner. Feeling lucky I asked the manager whether she had any ski-trousers and within five minutes was the happy owner of a pair of snowboarding pants that cost me even less! They were mildly garish but left me feeling equal to whatever the Scottish weather might throw at me.

  Kate and the girls left on the Friday and I had the weekend to pack and repack and let my excitement build. It reminded me of when I went backpacking across Andalucía to Gibraltar, during the last summer before I learned that I wasn’t simply short-sighted. I love travelling light, eking things out so you use less and the tight planning that entails. I even found myself looking forward to the journey.

  On any other day getting up before dawn to catch a plane would be my nightmare but I was out of bed before the alarm went off and happy to be on my way. Every section of my journey was smoothed by someone offering help or guidance or simply company, making my adventure through a maze of movement and shadows fun rather than fearful.

  A little over three hours after leaving my house I was arm in arm with a stewardess walking towards the baggage carousel at Inverness Airport.

  ‘I can take over from here if you like.’ The speaker was tall, muscular and spoke with a strangely familiar accent. ‘Hi, you must be Red, I’m Nick.’ He had a climber’s handshake; one that is firm, never seeks to crush, but retains the ability to support the entire weight of the attached body using only a finger or two.

  ‘I’m parked just outside’ he said swinging my rucksack onto his broad shoulders, ‘Good trip?’

  It turned out Nick grew up in Eastbourne, the other end of Sussex to me, and had also cut his climbing teeth at Harrison’s. We were about the same age, both married, he with one daughter me with two, and hit it off immediately. The weather, which had been grizzly in London, was glorious as we drove out through the Dingwall countryside towards a destination described by ScottishClimbs.com as:

  Moy Rock is a conglomerate south facing crag, north of Inverness. Currently there are a number of trad routes for those with a death wish and 16 sport routes that have been fully equipped and climbed. In the area that has been developed, the nature of the rock and the lack of any protection lends itself well to an ideal sport climbing venue. There is also potential for bouldering.

  I had perused the list of routes, which included a 6a+* tantalisingly called The Old Man of Moy. Though none was prefixed by an F, I could only assume they were sports grades. Otherwise there was a worrying scarcity of lower grade climbs on which to warm up and build confidence.

  Martin cut a lean, intense figure, waiting by the silver Moran Mountain minibus; compact in the type of climbing gear that is so unflashy that you know it is top quality. I squinted hard as we approached, trying to focus, and received a quick smile that revealed white teeth set in a healthy, weather-beaten face. Like his handshake it was brief and business-like. We exchanged a few words about travel and conditions before he said, ‘Well, if you’re ready to climb let’s go on up.’

  I’ve read enough autobiographies and heard enough interviews to know that conserving energy is second nature to mountaineers; waste is anathema to them. So I took Martin’s reserved manner as a sign of his professionalism.

  It did though, make me feel excessively self-conscious as I proceeded to strew the contents of my rucksack across the lay-by. I am neat and tidy by nature and had packed so that the items I would need to climb were folded close-at-hand. I had not however reckoned on it being 12 degrees C and bright sunshine.

  ‘Let’s have a look at your boots,’ he said quietly, as I rammed my
newly acquired snowboarding trousers and fleece into the chaos I’d made of my bag.

  ‘No grip’ he sniffed, turning them over then placing them on the tailgate. ‘And you’ll need something with more support for the walk in. What size do you take?’

  ‘8½, 9’ I was feeling a complete bloody amateur now, with my urban walking boots, fit only for the well-kempt paths of Hampstead Heath.

  I received a pair of high ankle mountain boots, made a mess of lacing them up and had to suffer the ignominy of having them tied for me. Finally we were ready to scramble up the approach. Much of the slope had been cleared of trees and was pitted with stumps and hollows, but it was dry and there was a reasonably well-worn trail. The crag loomed above us, deserted save for its vocal bird population.

  ‘Right let’s get you warmed up on something’ Martin said. ‘What do you reckon, Nick?’

  They chose a steep slab with a wide groove running jaggedly from base to summit; beginner’s stuff but being conglomerate rock (Nature’s equivalent to pebbledash), abrasive and unforgiving should you fall. On the plus side it is great for smearing up (using the friction of the soles of your shoes instead of footholds).

  Now I struggled to tie myself in and was glad Martin was busy sorting out the rope and quickdraws. As I struggled to find the loop at the base of my harness I felt a rising frustration at my inadequacy. Matthew’s words from the week before came back to me.

  ‘Remember, slow down, concentrate, check and ask Martin to double-check your rope safety; it will put his mind at ease, and yours. I’ve worked as a ski instructor and there’s nothing worse than someone who thinks they know it all, won’t accept advice and puts themselves and everyone else in danger. Ask. Even if it makes you feel stupid it will make Martin confident knowing you’re safe.’