The Climber

The Climber awoke.

He could feel the intense heat of the sun beating down on his back like a furnace,  piercing the thin fleece he was wearing and causing him to sweat profusely. His senses seemed dulled like he'd somehow been drugged without his knowledge. His eyes, head, legs and chest pulsed to the throbbing beat of his heart. He was aware of the fact that he was somewhere well outside his comfort zone, but the facts, like jigsaw pieces, had still to click into place. He didn't fully realise it yet, but he had endured an awful calamity and his sense of shock was palpable.

Contrastingly, he could feel a soothing breeze coming from somewhere beneath his feet, which seemed to be dangling over an expanse of space, his left leg displaying the traumatic evidence of a ripped gaiter, half of which had been torn asunder, the other half fluttering forlornly in the breeze. Until then he'd been in a dreamlike state, but now at this precise moment, even while semi-conscious, he suddenly became aware that something was badly wrong. He couldn't accurately comprehend his plight, only that the intense pain he felt and the precarious position he now occupied lay outwith the realm of safe and comfortable. He'd been taken from great to grief. From exhilaration nearly to extermination. His desolation was almost absolute and, worst of all, he was alone and far from help or rescue.

He was lying prostrate, on his face, like a toppled tombstone in a rocky granite cemetery, and runny wet mud oozed over his name and his face, blocking one of his nostrils and obscuring his vision. Rest in peace Mr. Climber! He had no grasp on the real world. He existed in a limbo, a fantasy land where his reality lagged far behind his consciousness and he viewed his surroundings in slow motion, like a drunk trying to make sense of his house keys.

His first attempt at movement was to wriggle the fingers on his left hand, but without much in the way of success and resulting only in a biting pain. Therefore, he gave up temporarily and then tried again a few minutes later. This time, the consequent pain persuaded him to stop. It felt like rods of white hot metal were being skewered straight down under his finger nails, through the middle of his knuckles and into the palm of his hand. Movement, it seemed, was going to be a bit of a challenge.

Then, when he felt the breeze rattling through his fingers and through the shredded rags of what had been a glove and experienced the raw, jagged pain of exposed flesh, he realised his hand was useless. He managed a sideways look from amongst the mud and what he saw terrified him - a bloody, shattered, mashed up fist, his ragged fingers splayed haphazardly like wilted daffodils and his lower arm looking like it had been pulverised in a road traffic accident. His realised, at this point, that not only were his fingers and hand broken, but his whole left arm was useless.

He then abandoned all effort at movement, preferring instead hushed, restful motionlessness to the torture of movement. The next few minutes seemed to pass like the oozing, molten hands on Salvador Dali's melting clock faces, except that The Climber's form was draped over a rocky ledge, on a lonely mountainside, far away from the safe haven of a sheltered beach. Then again, all too slowly this time, his pain-racked body fell into a mild sleep. Relief. Escape. Refuge. Oh how sweet the release of unconsciousness and the anaesthetising effects of inertia.

However, his slumber was short-lived and he woke again, abruptly this time to the full, alarming realisation of both where he was and how he had gotten there. He had been on a solo climb in the Cairngorms,  venturing out alone today, with the intention of walking from Scottie's Bothy, where he'd spent the previous night in the company of a party of RAF chaps from Lossiemouth, ensconced in the raucous reverie of folk music and whisky, to climb Derry Cairngorm. Last night's banter had been superb, centring around a hilarious card game where the lowest ranked player was given a series of menial tasks and baited mercilessly, whilst the top dog was treated like a lord - pretty much a realistic reflection of life in the forces, then.

It was just what the doctor had ordered, an escape from the stresses and strains of his job in the city to the idyllic, awe inspiring wildness of the Cairngorms. The great company and raucous banter had set the seal on his first day in the wilderness and set the scene for the adventure that lay ahead, or so he thought...

Today, on a beautiful clear morning he'd shaken off the excesses of the night before, and his early start had taken him from Derry Lodge northwards up Glen Derry and then via Carn Crom, Little Cairngorm and Derry Cairngorm and eventually down to the foot of the cliffs at remote Coire Sputan Dearg. He hadn't planned a solo route on these cliffs, as his original intention was to head from Derry Cairngorm over to Coire Etchachan and spend the night in The Hutchison Memorial Hut. He'd agreed to rendezvous with a fellow climber who lived in this neck of the woods, before heading for Shelter Stone Crag in the Loch Avon basin, to climb a particularly difficult route called Run of the Arrow. What an epic three days he had in store.

However, like all plans on a day of great weather, they're open to change, and the change he had in mind today was to pick his way up these vertiginous cliffs to gain easier, less rocky slopes and from there attain the summit of Ben Macdui, the second highest mountain in the UK after Ben Nevis.

Like all solo efforts it was risky. He'd be climbing unroped and without a partner or any form of protection, where the result of a fall would be serious, or even catastrophic. But, hey - what the heck! Get while the getting's good, he who dares, carpe diem and all that nonsense. He could put in some temporary protection for security as he paused for rest on the route, he told himself.

And so the plan took shape, formed and moulded from sheer optimism, great weather and the urge for adventure that lies somewhere deep within all of us. And like everything else on a clear sunny day, life seemed easy and possibilities were apparently limitless. He could see his way forward bright and clear, the multi-faceted challenge of climbing, walking and dossing overnight in another great Cairngorms bothy was irresistible.

His impulsively chosen climb had started at the foot of a slabby route named Crystal Ridge, and in the early stages it was an absolute joy, a classic even by the elevated standards of the Cairngorms. With a south-eastern aspect, Coire Sputan Dearg caught the early morning sun, and now, at 8.00am the sun warmed his back as he climbed, lost in his thoughts whilst simultaneously focused on the rock immediately in front of him. Rock 'n' roll! "You can tell everybody - I'm the man, I'm the man, I'm the man." With his i-pod booming in his ears, he settled into an easy rhythm, the beat of each song propelling him towards his goal. He had already picked out the soundtrack of his dreams, and he visualised himself watching the video clip of this epic adventure on You Tube. Maybe ACDC's "You Shook Me All Night Long", or ZZ Top's "Tube Snake Boogie" would be the soundtrack.

Climbing was his passion, as was the pursuit of filthy lucre in the dog eat dog, cut-throat world of the London Stock Exchange. Climbing, hill walking, mountaineering, paddling, cycling and even... golf, in fact any excuse to get outside gave him a sense of freedom and exhilaration that was the equal of any buzz he gained from accumulating wealth and closing big financial deals. Money was only one of his passions, oh yes! The capacity and desire to travel and pursue his outdoor hobbies was the other. For him, the pursuit of a range of outdoor sports was easy. He was young, relatively fit, healthy, fabulously wealthy, and therefore he had the means to splash out on foreign trips and expensive gear. So why not? You're only young once, or so they say. Every opportunity outside his busy schedule in The City was seized upon as he made the most of his chances, like many rats in the big time he was cash-rich and time-poor.

However, the first inkling that things were starting to go slightly awry dawned on him when he reached the crux move of the route......

Tune in for the next instalment, coming soon on Stewart's Mountain Odyssey.