Voice From The North

Mountainbiking - The West Highland Way In a Day

2011-12-09T16:05:00.020Z

I cycled the West Highland Way with my teenage son James many years ago - He now runs Scotland's main MTB suspension servicing company www.flotecsuspension in Edinburgh, so it's more years than I care to think about. On that occasion we did it over three days and had a great time.

More recently I read of a completion of The Way In a Day by mar k.scottishclimbs.com I guess that's when the idea lodged in my brain.

So up to the present day, or nearly. On a week-day in mid September this year I took the last train from Edinburgh to Fort William arriving at 11.00pm. I had pre-booked into the Wild Goose Hostel in Banavie two miles outside the town although I knew I wouldn't get much sleep as a 4.00am start was planned.

4.30am saw me climbing up the first singletrack of the day onto the fire road towards Kinlochleven then single track and droveroad before a great technical descent into the village.

The track then rises steeply out of Kinlochleven and there was a fair bit of 'hike a bike' before the top of The Devil's Staircase followed by another great technical descent down to the Glencoe Road. I had breakfast at The Kingshouse Hotel at 10.00am before heading over The Wade Road to Bridge of Orchy. This involved a fair bit of climbing/walking but was rewarded again by a sweet long descent to the hotel after which a straightforward gently undulating trail led to the tourist honeypot that is now Tyndrum - Green Welly Shop and all! It was now 12.30pm and, 8hrs in, I was surprised at how fresh I felt.

A nice bit of single track, then across the main road and Drove Road through Strath Fillan led to recrossing the road and this is where the surprise came for me, a surprise that cost me a lot of energy! Travelling by road from Tyndrum to Crianlarich is, in the main level and downhill however what I hadn't realised, and what memory had obviously erased, was that the WHW cut a corner here with a sucession of steep hard climbs which took a toll on my legs. I had had it in mind to take a ferry over Loch Lomond thus bypasssing the notorious section between Bienglass and Inversnaid but as it was now 2.00pm, I realised I wasn't going to make the last ferry. Oh well, how bad can it be? Answer - bad.

Anyway a really nice descent saw the miles to Bienglass pass relatively pleasantly as the track ran alongside the River Falloch and on arriving at the farm at 4.00pm I decided on a sit down refuel. I had largely been using gels and energy drink and the lure of some solid food was too great to resist.

What can I say about the next 7miles - well firstly, they took me the best part of three hours the majority of which involved pushing,lifting,pulling and carrying a 30lb mountainbike. I recall a couple of sections where I was climbing a crag with one hand on a rock hold and the other either hoisting the bike up in front of me or pulling it up behind me! Enough said, although I do think given the topography of this section things might be marginally easier in the usual direction south to north.

Still feeling reasonble I arrived at Inversnaid at 8.00pm and as the daylight was beginning to fade, I set off for Rowardennan.To cut the story short, the Loch section had taken it's toll and by the time I reached Balmaha it was dark, my batteries had run out - no not my lamp batteries - (Think Duracell Bunny!) and with 19 miles still to go, including Conic Hill, I decided to call it a day.

Too late to find accommodation, I bedded down on a pile of sand on a building site wrapped in polythene - slept like a baby and finished into Glasgow the next day.

My initial reaction was Never Again but after a few days, the Unfinished Business feeling kicked in so back for another Way In a Day attempt in June 20012 - same year as I collect my Bus Pass!

Info: Lapierre Zesty 714 - Tubeless Tyres- I rode Spd's but will use Flats next time because of the walking/scrambling involved - Plenty of gels and energy bars - took energy drink powder and filled up from crystal clear streams. I had thought of using my Stumpjumper hardtail which would have been an advantage on the carrying sections but in retrospect I'm glad I didnt because I think the general body battering of a hardtail would have made things less enjoyable and might well have stopped me earlier.

STIRLING METAL DETECTOR FIND - AM I BEING TOO CYNICAL?

2009-11-13T23:23:00.004Z

I worked for many years as a Detective with Lothian and Borders Police and it is perhaps that background that has caused a certain degree of cynicism to remain in the system, but surely I can't be the only one to have doubts about the recent treasure trove found in a field near Stirling. The circumstances are as follows M'laud:-

' Guy buys metal detector on e-bay. It arrives in the post, he unwraps it and doubtless, after the usual struggle with the instructions, he gets it to look something like the picture on the box. Then, after a few preliminary tests in the backgarden, successfully locating bits of the family cutlery,he gets in his car, drives to a random field near his house and, after 5mins and within a few yards of his parked car, he comes across a priceless hoard of jewellery of some 2,500 years vintage which stands to make him a man of independent means for the rest of his natural life.'

Now ladies and gentlemen of the Jury I ask you 'How F-----g likely is this? What are the odds?

So where did it come from? I'm afraid I can't answer that one and it is, I would submit, beyond my present remit to attempt to do so, however what I can say is, if one were to apply the degree of proof required in civil actions to this amazing set of circumstances, 'On The Balance Of Probabilities' then I would have to ask you to return a verdict of Guilty As Charged.'

cjo.

At Night OnThe Trails

2009-11-11T23:02:00.004Z

Now that the 'nights are drawing in' as King Henry said before the Battle of Agincourt, I find myself a bit limited as to when I can get out running so, last night, for the first time I experimented with running in the dark on the forest trails above where I work at Castle Craig.

I must say, it took a bit of getting used to with your world effectively narrowed down to a pool of light about three feet in front of you. However after about 20mins or so I got quite comfortable with it and was out for about an hour and a half. This was roughly 10-15mins longer than I would take in the day time due to the fact that one has to be a bit more careful about even the smallest obstacles - sticks, potholes etc.

I was using a Petzl Tika headtorch that I use for climbing and would have to say that it felt like the minimum output possible for safety. I am awaiting delivery of a more powerful rechargeable LED system for mountainbiking and I'm sure this will make things a lot easier and more enjoyable.

One outing and I am hooked and I must say I'm really looking forward to some clear, frosty and starry nights on the trails.
cjo.

Piker's Progress

2007-04-24T10:55:00.000+01:00

I caught my first - and only till now - pike in a pond on a relative's croft near Dalmally in Argyll some 40 years ago and it's something I've never forgotten. I think I recall the visual impact more than anything, the sleek lines of this torpedo -like predator impressed me greatly and when this was linked with the mythical tales of the gigantic proportions of such fish and stories of ducks, lambs and the odd unsuspecting dog being taken, it probably explains the indelible memory.

I have fished occasionally over the years for mackerel, no more than a passing interest really but have always retained the thought that fishing, especially for pike might be something I could do when I was too old and decrepit for anything else. So, facing a three month recovery from a back injury, I decided to take the opportunity.

My first outing was at Edgelaw reservoir near Temple in Midlothian and although I didn't catch anything - I put that down to the fact that I was fishing with lures while everybody else was using dead-bait - I did see an 18lb monster being caught and now I'm really hooked.

I caught my first pike for 40years last night in the Swan Pond near Cowdenbeath, a nice little venue but please note, it comes with a high chav count. Size? well I think it was over 6inches but size didn't really matter - it was the first (well second really) and things can only get better!

Two Good Early Season Days In The Cairngorms

2006-12-20T21:26:00.000Z

One advantage of being old(ish) is that you can pick and choose when to do outdoor stuff. It's not everybody that can look at the forecast and decide to go when its good. More often than not (and I remember it well) your time away was dictated by work commitments and you just had to take what was on offer.

I saw the forecast for a fairly settled High this week and had two great days in the 'Gorms. Tuesday skiing, which although very limited in terms of runs available, offered excellent conditions. I'm a recent convert from the old style long straight planks to the new shorter 'Carvers' and I really got the hang of it this trip, kicking it up off piste coming down the 'Cas.' I am beginning to kid myself that I am getting quite good at it! More snow needed then onto the really steep stuff - then we'll find out!

Wednesday started badly. I had stayed overnight at the Scottish Mountaineering Club's Raeburn Hut at Laggan and drove up the A9 in the morning. I was just entering Aviemore and was debating whether to have coffee and a bacon roll before going up to the car park when, too late, I saw the cops! - 41mph in a 30 = 60 quid! - expensive roll!

It took me the first hour walking into Coire Lochain to reach a state of calm acceptance (honest). I climbed up a steep open snow slope at the side of the Fiacaill Ridge, topping out in beautiful sunshine, and what's even more unusual, absolutely flat calm. I then decended into Coire an t -Sneachda by a very steep and icy 'Goat Track' before a quick ascent of the gully line of 'TheRunnel' on iron hard neve. It was in quite lean condition and there were two or three steep steps in it that would normally be banked out, so it made it an exciting 'solo'!

The Boys Done Well - Review of 'The Boys Of Everest' by Clint Willis

2006-12-18T09:34:00.000Z

We read "'to leave behind the tether of a single mind ...and deviate into the minds and bodies of others."
Virginia Woolf.

This book, by American author Clint Willis, carries the sub-title 'Chris Bonnington and the Tragic Story of Climbing's Greatest Generation' and for me, the book tells that story in a wonderfully compelling fashion. I think Willis' sucess with this book is in large part due to the fact that it does exactly what it says on the tin - tells a Story - rather than simply cataloguing the well documented events of this momentous era in British/World climbing.

The characters are well known, Whillans; Brown; Scott; Haston; Boysen; Boardman; Tasker et al the 'Tragic' part of the sub- title being, of course, that the majority of them died young in pursuit of their goals.

Willis has done his own extensive research and this is not simply a rehash of what has gone before. Obviously much is owed to the various 'expedition' books Annapurna South Face, Everest the Hard Way etc. but what makes the difference is that Willis goes beyond this into interviews with families and friends, extensive use of Journals , letters and other hitherto unpublished sources.

What could arguably have proven the most contentious parts of the book have, in my opinion, proven to be its greatest strength, that of moving into the realms of 'story'. I would hesitate to call this fiction because, although fulfilling all the rquirements of that genre, the passages I refer to go further than that description alone would suggest. The passages concerned are narrated by an omniscient presence travelling with some of these climbers shortly before their deaths and deal with emotions and feelings that only the climber himself could have known about. So yes, in one sense they are fiction, they are 'made up' but I would argue that it is in these passages that Willis sets himself apart from other more prosaic authors and thus ensures both a wide readership and a lasting place in the literature of climbing.

As editor of a climbing Journal, I receive many review books, rarely do I read them cover to cover first day - this is one such book.

cjo. Edinburgh 17.12.06

Speaking for my supper - Mar Lodge, Braemar

2006-12-13T21:34:00.000Z

I had the good fortune to spend a recent weekend at Mar Lodge near Braemar, as the guest of the Edinburgh section of the JMCS (Junior Mountaineering Club of Scotland). This was a 'freebie' for me as I had agreed to 'sing for my supper' as the guest speaker at their annual dinner. Mar Lodge is a Victorian Hunting Lodge which sufferred a major fire some years ago and has since been refurbished by the National Trust. It is a real step back in time and unlike some of these old buildings which are a bit worn around the edges shall we say, Mar Lodge is in pristine condition.
The main building is divided up into self contained appartments so it is possible to stay there for the weekend at a very reasonable price and have the run of the whole place. - Monarch of The Glen anybody!

Trail Running

2006-12-13T21:15:00.000Z

The weather here has been absolutely crap for about the last week with really strong winds and torrential rain. I was looking for a reasonably sheltered place to run today and came across Ladybank woods just off the main Dundee Road near the village of Ladybank in Fife. There is a huge area of sheltered trails criss- crossing through this mixed forest area and the sandy sub soil means that even after days of rain the trails are still pretty firm. Well worth a visit.

Mountain Bike Tour de Mont Blanc

2006-09-03T17:33:00.000+01:00

I have just completed a 5 Day Journey by Mountain Bike around the base of the Mont Blanc Massif. The ride covers 180km, mostly off road and takes in 7000m of climbing over 6 mountain passes. The route starts in Chamonix in France, proceeds over the Col du Balme(2191m) into Switzerland, then into Italy by way of the Grand Col du Ferret(2537m) finally returning into France by way of the Col de la Seigne(2516m). These are the bare statistics - here is the tale.
We organised this trip through the company MBMB in Chamonix and were picked up at Geneva airport and ferried to our chalet in Les Bossons just outside the town. The first inklings that there may be some organaisational glitches along the way came when there was a prolonged argument between our Guide Nick, who met us at the chalet, and the Spanish driver as to who was going to pay for the taxi from Geneva. I immediately put on my 'bugger all to do with me look' and started to load my gear into the chalet. The dispute was eventually settled when Manuel grudgingly accepted Nick's exhortations that 'Phil will pay.' Phil being, as we later learned, the boss of the company, who didn't exactly endear himself to me at the first night briefing by referring to us as 'Scotties.'

10.00am the following morning saw as gathered in the courtyard of the chalet ready for the off, At which point Phil, hereinafter referred to as Boycie - bearing un uncanny likeness we thought to the 'Fools and Horses' character, with his wideboy London accent and braying laugh - appeared and asked who was going to join his 'elite' group (there were two groups of 11) All the
'Scotties' managed to resist this siren call without too much difficulty and each succeeding day only served to confirm us in what proved to be a very fortuitous choice. But more of that later. A gentle road ride of two miles or so brought us into the main street in Chamonix were some of the group stocked up on spare tubes and more than a few energy gels. The first off road riding trended up through the woods by the river Arve to Argentiere and as we entered the village we passed a number of very spaced out (not just distancewise) competitors in the Mont Blanc Ultra endurance race which basically followed our route but in the opposite direction. We later found out that the winner completed the course in about 21hours but the guys we saw on their last legs were on the the last leg to Chamonix and would narrowly avoid the 48hr. cut off point.
We continued uphill to the village of La Tour, the scene of a devastaing avalanche some years back which all but wiped out the village. Here we took the only cable car of the trip up to the Col du Balme which at 2191m forms the border with Switzerland. Lunch was taken here before some great twisting single track across the col where we encountered the one and only snow field crossing of the trip. Once we reached the tree line on the Swiss side we had to negotiatentered some very muddy, rooty and steep single track which, after the torrential rain of the preceding days, had been churned up well and proper by the passage of the hundreds of endurance race competitors. One of our number came to grief on this descent sustaining quite nasty facial injuries which necessitated hospital treatment and sadly, he took no further part in the proceedings.
This technical descent took us onto a fire road and then on to tarmac and after a couple of miles of steep climbing, a mixture of trail and road, we reached the Col du Forclaz and our hotel. I ommitted to explain that the deal with MBMB included our luggage being ferried between each overnight stop. It is possible to do this tour unsupported and we did see a couple of people doing just that. However, my friend George has a saying that he applies in situations like this involving the words 'nuts' and 'mangle' and in this particular case I would have to agree with him. The Freedom of being able to ride unencumbered by a hefty rucksack was well worth the extra cost.Incidentally, 'mangle' is a word some of we older Scotties use to describe an early edition of the clothes wringer with rollers used to extract excess water from newly washed clothes -just so you can get the picture! From now on it was nine o'clock starts and when we went off road the next morning onto grassy single track there was still a heavy dew about and when I locked up on a steep section the tumble that followed was inevitable. No damage done, we continued down windy track to the main road leading to the Grand St. Bernard Pass. After a mile or so we turned uphill and there followed a steep road climb to the village of Chapex where we stopped for lunch. This was the regular pattern to the day and despite taking on board huge amounts of pasta over the week I registered a net weight loss at the end of the trip, it was simply burned off as necessary fuel. Calories in / Calories out is the simple equation here and no matter what winky- wanky diet is followed by people trying to lose weight it is this universal truth that lies behind it. I digress, enough of that particular hobbyhorse. I took the climbing prize by a fair margin - competitive, who me? I'm a roadie at heart and I had the polka dot Tour de France climbers jersey in my bag but I was making sure of my position before I put it on the following day - sad really isn't it (rhetorical)

To be continued

GEORGE AND ME

2005-11-25T14:12:00.000Z

When my drinking career was at its height in the early eighties George Best was seeing out what remained of his playing career or indeed often not playing career for Hibs at Easter Road. I was even misguided or deluded enough then to take some comfort from the fact that somebody of his stature was having the same troubles as I was, as if that would somehow excuse the heartbreak and damage that drinking was causing for me and those around me.

Why is it then that 20 odd years down the line drink no longer plays a part in my life, a fact with which I am very comfortable, and George, after spending these same years engaged in what the tabloid press are given to present as the ‘battle against booze,’ is dead?

Drink played a hugely important part in both our lives so much so that it warped how we saw the world – drink becoming the main focus, the arbiter of everything we did and just as often didn’t do. The fact that he was a superstar gloriously entertaining those who were lucky enough to see him play and I was an ordinary working guy stood for nothing. We both suffered from blackouts, from illness, missed work, crashed cars, endangered and destroyed relationships – the full Monty really. We were both brought to our knees by a compulsion to drink alcohol. Ok he performed both on and off the field in the full glare of publicity and some would argue that it was this pressure that made him drink but I have the feeling that George Best would have had the same problems had he been a shipyard worker in Belfast like his dad instead of one of the most dazzling football players the world has ever seen.

I think there are two areas that George failed to get his head round in relation to his drinking. Firstly he bought into this whole fight/battle idea. Fighting at times not to drink but probably just as often, if not more so, to prove that he could. Secondly, and as a consequence of that mindset, he could not achieve the depth of change, change which it might not be too fanciful to refer to as being at the level of the soul, which would enable him to envisage even the possibility of a life without alcohol.

Now there are as many and varied theories surrounding alcohol abuse as there are ‘treatments’and I know that we were both exposed to many of them ranging from Alcoholics Anonymous to drug therapies, various forms of counselling, you name it, it was tried. So again, why did I get it and he didn’t? I can’t say I had a ‘Road to Damascus’ experience and indeed, like George I tried to stop drinking many times and failed, I tried to control my drinking many times and failed, but somewhere along the line these organisations I was touching and people I was talking to were rubbing off on me and, even at a subconscious level, were starting to lay the foundations of a platform for change.

Looking back, if I were to try and define a turning point I would have to say that when I came to realise that this ‘fight’ this ‘battle’ that everybody was talking about was, at least for me, one best not entered into, things started to get better.I didn’t need to look any further than my own experience to realise that this particular fighter had climbed into the ring to contest this same ‘mismatch’ once too often and had suffered some fearful beatings in so doing. So why should I expect the result to be any different this time? I simply threw in the towel – I didn’t win the fight against alcohol, I gave up the fight.

A fighter to the last, this was one area of his life where perhaps the competitive streak, the fighter in him, worked against George. We’ve all got our race to run and he should be remembered for his short lived brilliance which, like a comet, lit up the sporting world. And well, at least he should be better placed to sort out that other business next time round.

Charlie Orr
Edin Nov 2005

'An enemy in their mouths' - a perspective on Scotland's Alcohol Problem.

2005-10-12T00:08:00.000+01:00

On Tuesday night Professor Peter Brunt gave a lecture under the auspices of the Royal College Of Physicians of Edinburgh entitled “An enemy in their mouths” – a perspective on Scotland’s alcohol problem. That it was a very well presented lecture is no more than you would expect from someone with Professor before his name and CVO, OBE after it and we were treated to an erudite potted history of the use of alcohol from the time of the Egyptian pharaohs to the present. His eloquent prose was more than adequately supported by a liberal sprinkling of power point illustrations of paintings by Bruegel, Manet, et al and any number of Shakespearian quotes of which his title is one – but of course you knew that, this is The Scotsman after all. But there it ended I’m afraid. The graphs, many relating to the eighties, were produced to show an upward trend in both consumption, alcohol related illness and mortality and the conclusions were drawn that drink is too cheap, too readily available and too heavily advertised. Nothing new there then, and certainly little in the way of seeing a way ahead. Given that Professor Brunt was billed as ‘-- one of Scotland’s leading alcohol experts,’ one could have reasonably expected more emphasis on substance, if necessary at the expense of a few paintings and maybe a couple of sculptures here and there.

Blog Spamming

2005-10-05T13:31:00.000+01:00

This morning I was amazed at the upsurge of comments to articles on this site, that is until I read them - 'Amazing new business opportunity' 'Need A Loan' We've got used to this in our mail boxes (both real and virtual) and now they're invading the blogosphere. Why don't you all just Fuck Off!

Definition Of The Week

2005-10-05T11:44:00.000+01:00

Oxymoron:- A Vettriano Original

Not Quite Painting By Numbers

2005-10-04T21:20:00.000+01:00

When is plagiarism not plagiarism? When you're Jack Vetttriano it seems. It was revealed today in The Scotsman that the top Scottish 'artist' copied some of his famous paintings directly from a 'How to do it' painting manual. We're not talking style or nuance here we're talking copying that is so blatant he probably used tracing paper! If this was in the literary domain he would be black balled with no court of appeal, but we're in the 'art world' here and the fact that these 'colouring in' masterpieces have sold for upwards of 700,000 pounds probably says as much about the denizens of that airy-fairy world as it does about Vettrianno himself. Then there's his agent," Vettriano's skill lies in his ability to create narrative paintings with which the viwer becomes involved.He is a master of generating atmosphere in his paintings---------" blah de blah de blah.What a load of crap. If he were a genuine wide boy who had fooled those poncy 'collectors' with too much disposable income then I would be the first to applaud him but I'm afraid that's not the case. He is a man who got lucky and came to believe his own publicity. I always thought his work was like the product of some sort of sausage machine where the handle was turned and out popped another of the same but I thought that at least he was using his own recipe!

SCOTS POLICE RECORD A 70% INCREASE IN RACE-RELATED CRIMES

2005-05-11T10:35:00.000+01:00

This is the unfortunate headline accompanying an article in today's 'Scotsman' which,if taken at face value, clearly indicates that a Powellian 'Rivers of Blood' scenario is just round the corner. And where,in the case of the Northern Constabulary area, with a 364% rise in racist incidents in the past five years! a gathering of The Klan seems more likely than a Gathering of the Clans.

It doesn't take a genius to work out that this has everything to do with a change in the methods used to record 'racist incidents' and indeed, a change in the very definition of such an incident, and very little to do with any real change in community relations in the areas cited. That a newspaper who, in the face of mounting evidence to the contrary, continues to refer to itself as Scotland's Quality Broadsheet, chooses not mention this is regrettable and can only add to readers anxieties concerning the much vaunted 'Fear Of Crime' which is, in this case, as in many others, perceived rather than real.

2005-04-07T16:14:00.000+01:00

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Book Review - The Blue Road

2005-04-01T17:13:00.000+01:00

The Blue Road :-

Travelling I consider as an extremely useful exercise.

It sets the mind in movement.

Montaigne.

To position this work among what we’ve come to categorise as ‘Travel Literature’ would, I’m sure, lead the author to a Prufrockian ‘ That is not it at all/That is not what I meant at all.’ Yes it gives an account of a journey from Montreal to the Ultima Thule of Labrador, yes it describes and comments on the physical landscape and the people encountered. But there is more, much more. What the author is attempting to do, I feel, is get to the very essence of this space, move out beyond the signs, the labels, the preconceptions and to convey to the reader his experiencing of the way-out- there of this journey, through the landscape/mindscape of himself and its inhabitants.

It is fairly well known that Kenneth White writes in three genres – essays, poetry and the ‘Way Book’ of which The Blue Road is arguably his finest example. White himself says that these books are hard to categorise, being neither fiction nor poetry, which is not surprising given that his whole ethos is an attempt to live, think, experience and be ‘outside the box’ – whatever or wherever that box might be.

White is never content with description alone, although he’s not short on that facility. What he seeks,I feel is an immediacy with the landscape which he achieves in two ways. Firstly, a widening of perception, getting in, inside and underneath description,

---the whole of the North is still a cold enigma to most Canadians,

While to the Amerindian it’s full of live realities --- something like

Poetic space to the normalized mind.

Secondly he is constantly engaging with the people on the land, the people who feel the land, who have genetic memory of that land, again not in a descriptive, superficial way but directly and empathically. Most of us, I'm sure, being engaged in conversation by two drunks on a train, would be content with platitudes of the ‘nice meeting you,’ ‘must get on type’? White’s approach is genuine interest in these two Indian boys resulting in an invite to a wedding and access to a depth of information simply not otherwise available.

Another such encounter with a woman selling beaver pelts in a small shop leads to a visit to her uncle, a modern day Amerindian Shaman who introduces the author to the mysteries of the drum in Amerindian culture.

When he’s in the woods,he says, he beats on the drum to call the caribou.

And as he tells me about it, his phrasing seems to become more rhythmical,like this:

When you go up into the woods

when you’re up there in the woods

you consult the drum

you use it like a TV set

you see what you’re going to kill

when you hunt with the drum--------

Poetic space.

White’s field is boundless, open and inviting to anyone prepared to take the risk and travel there. Like me you may find some stony ground, some difficult places, but the bright clear-cut diamonds are plentiful.

All afternoon I sit there,listening.

With evening falling,I murmur this into the wind

I’m living today

but I won’t always be living

red sun, you’ll remain

dark earth,you’ll remain.

Charlie Orr

Edinburgh April 05

Global Market Forces v Soul

2005-03-13T19:33:00.000Z
Printed In China through Colourcraft Ltd Hong Kong
One might be forgiven for finding it rather incongruous to find this information on the inside cover of the Journal of The Fell And Rock Climbing Club Of The English Lake District. But wait, what's this? - Printed And Bound In Spain by Elkar mccgraphics,Bilbao on the inside cover of The Scottish Mountaineering Club Hillwalkers Guide to the North-West Highlands.Am I alone in my dismay at two climbing clubs, steeped in the mountaineering/climbing history of their respective areas, finding it necessary play the 'global market forces' card to save a few bob by taking advantage of cheap labour at the expense of UK printers. Tawdry to say the least and certainly a retrograde step as far as staying in touch with tradition is concerned,perhaps even soulless.

The G8 Summit - What's it really about?

2005-03-11T12:40:00.000Z
What’s this G8 Summit business really about? If it were really about a meaningful meeting between world leaders in which some real work could be done, why does it need to take place in the full glare of the media spotlight? It seems to me that, rather than advertise to world terrorists where and when their targets will be sitting down to lunch together, they should be meeting in some military bunker in the middle of nowhere, with the world becoming aware of said meeting only after it had taken place. If we are to take this whole security thing seriously then surely by opting for the full-on Gleneagles option our leaders are not only putting us all at risk, but also making a mockery of all these so called ‘security measures’ they are taking which are now beginning to affect our daily lives. Apart from the obvious money making opportunities of the chosen option and the vast posturing potential for the participants, am I missing something?

Lance Armstrong - Doping Allegations

2005-01-23T22:31:00.000Z

Lance Armstrong says that he is nothing to hide after it is revealed a French prosecutor is investigating allegations made in 'LA Confidentiel'.

Following Thursday’s report in Le Parisien that Annecy prosecutor Philippe Drouet is undertaking a preliminary investigation into allegations made about Lance Armstrong in the book ‘LA Confidentiel’, the American rider has told L’Equipe he has “nothing to hide”.

Contacted in the US, where he is training for the start of his season, Armstrong said when asked about the investigation: “Although we haven’t officially been made aware of the inquiry, I will be available at any time and in any place.” He also affirmed that he is still aiming to line up in Paris-Nice, the first event in the ProTour, at the start of March.

Drouet confirmed to L’Equipe that he is heading a preliminary investigation into alleged doping by Armstrong based on comments made by former US Postal soigneur Emma O’Reilly in ‘LA Confidentiel’. O’Reilly confirmed comments made in the book when she appeared, with her lawyer, before a Paris-based inquiry last summer. Armstrong is suing O’Reilly for defamation.

According to L’Equipe, Drouet and his team are most interested in the relationship between Armstrong and an Annecy-based osteopath/nutritionist, Benoit Nave. Contacted by L’Equipe, Nave said that he had not spoken to the police about his working relationship with Armstrong.

“I have worked on several occasions with Lance Armstrong since October 2002,” said Nave. “At that time he had already won four Tours de France. We met in San Francisco and he underwent a nutritional consultation with me. There is nothing to hide in all this, and it is always interesting to work with people like Armstrong.” Nave said that he had also been attended to Armstrong in 2003 in his role as an osteopath after the American suffered a series of crashes.

Drouet’s investigation is designed to ascertain whether there is sufficient need to open a judicial inquiry into this matter

Source procycling.com

Book Review - Climbing

2005-01-23T22:13:00.000Z

Mountains of the Mind – A History of a Fascination: - (Robert MacFarlane, (Granta Books, paperback, 306pp, 8.99.)

O the mind, mind has mountains…………..

Gerard Manly Hopkins. c.1880

In this unique book Robert MacFarlane presents us with mountains both as physical/ geological construct and, as the title would suggest, the mental construct of modern man.

His very persuasive standpoint being, that mountains and our attitudes towards them owe as much to mindscape as they do to landscape.

MacFarlane cleverly blends the two in a progression from 16^th century ‘terra incognita’ and a ‘There be Dragons’ mentality, through the ‘sublime’ mountain worship of Shelley, Ruskin et al, to the scientific endeavors still linked with mountaineering at the beginning of the 20^th century, arriving finally at the noble pursuit of mountain climbing and the consequent courting of danger as a laudable end in itself. And all this, running in parallel with the acknowledgement of ‘Deep Time’ inherent in the ongoing decoding of geological encryption.

His description of landscape and geological forces in what he calls ‘The Great Stone Book’ is fascinating and is achieved in such a way that it is both simple and at times poetic in its rendering of information more normally associated with the technically prosaic.

He is eclectic in his literary references with quotes ranging from Petrarch to Simpson - Joe and all points in between, sampling freely from poetry, prose, diary and letter. He also draws heavily on the artistic endeavors of many across the ages and it is in this department that the book displays what is, for this reviewer, its only weakness, poor quality photographic reproduction.

Mountains Of The Mind could be said to be truly, and indeed literally, visionary in its conception and MacFarlane has succeeded in telling a wonderful tale of the evolution of the mountain world in the consciousness of modern man.

Jodie Jones Conviction - When Is Specialist Knowledge Not Specialist Knowledge?

2005-01-23T20:10:00.000Z

Looks like I was wrong in the Luke Mitchell case then. He was found guilty and will be sentenced next week. The trial judge Lord Nimmo Smith (for background – see Lothian and Borders Police – Evidence Of Shred) decreed that the exceedingly tenuous chain of circumstantial evidence,( more like a thread of dubious weave!) was sufficient to allow the jury to convict. The main cornerstone of this was the assertion that Mitchell had ‘Specialist Knowledge’ of where the body lay.

Now my understanding of this term as used in this context is being where a suspect displays knowledge to the police or others which only the killer could have known. So, for example, this would be relevant where a suspect gave information to the police about the whereabouts of a body not hitherto traced. This however, was not the way things were in the case of Luke Mitchell. He formed part of a group specifically motivated to search a path and an adjoining wooded area which he knew well and it was Mitchell, the only one accompanied by a dog, who found the body. Much was made of the fact that Mitchell left the group and climbed through a tumbledown wall into the wooded area and was alone when he found the body but I would submit that any other member of that search party climbing through the wall to continue searching could have come up with the same result and that consequently the trial judge was wrong to allow this part of the evidence to be considered by the jury as ‘Specialist Knowledge.’

I feel sure we will be hearing from Donald Finlay in the near future and it may well lie with the Appeal Court to examine this further.

Book Review - Climbing

2005-01-21T23:13:00.000Z

The Joy Of Climbing: - Terry Gifford, (Whittles Publishing, 2004, paperback 192pp, ISBN 190-444-5063, 15.00)

Being editor of a climbing journal, the resounding clunk heralding the arrival of a review book tends to lose its excitement after five years. And it is a very rare occasion indeed that the first skim through the pages results in the newspaper being cast aside and the rest of the morning spent captivated by the volume on offer. The Joy of Climbing by Terry Gifford is one such book.

Much of climbing literature suffers from the fact that it tends to be formulaic and quite frankly boring. The intricate moves and wrinkles of a rock face are only of abiding interest in themselves as lists in a guidebook and it is only when one places them in the context of landscape and perhaps more importantly mindscape that they can truly captivate and inspire. Terry Gifford achieves this admirably in what could arguably be called a new genre in the literature of climbing.

His use of language in evoking place and emotion is of the first order and I include his poetry in this. I accept that many people on seeing any verse form immediately turn the page but even the uninitiated will not fail to get something from his works.

This is a book full of humour, of history, companionship, life, death and joy, written by a man at ease with himself, with his climbing life and with the craft to convey the real joy of climbing to his readers.

Not a Shred of Evidence - The Not Proven Verdict

2005-01-20T11:21:00.000Z

Donald Finlay QC leading the van in defence of the peculiarly Scottish verdict of ‘not proven’ could hardly have wished for a better showcase than his present remit at Edinburgh High Court – that of defending Luke Mitchell on trial for the murder of his girlfriend Jodi Jones.
Today's front page in The Scotsman, as the jury retire to consider their verdict, has him proclaiming 'There is not a single piece of evidence' to link his client to the killings.
Given the evidence led, few would disagree with the general feeling that in Luke Mitchell we are dealing with a strange boy, one who tends to stretch the boundaries of the socially acceptable, indulging in practices which many find abhorrent.Neither is he big on emotion, a deep and, some might say, disturbed boy who is destined always to be an outsider. But these facts, coupled with a very thin plea for ‘specialist knowledge’ of the whereabouts of the body, and a shaky alibi, singularly fail to provide the chain of evidence from which only one conclusion – the guilt of the accused – can be drawn.
Given the nature of the case and the publicity generated prior to the trial, I would not be surprised if the jury feel under pressure to refrain from returning a not guilty verdict and perhaps not guilty is not quite right either. I feel that Luke Mitchell may well have killed Jodi Jones but ‘feelings’ of that nature have no place in the High Court where, not so long ago, Mitchell may well have been on trial for his life.The Crown have failed to reach the required burden of proof – that of ‘guilt beyond reasonable doubt’ and therefore only two verdicts are open to them. The case of Luke Mitchell is a timely reminder of why the ‘Not Proven’ verdict should be retained in Scots Law.

Lothian and Borders Police - Evidence Of Shred!

2005-01-14T13:53:00.000Z
There has been a well publicised increase in the countrywide use of the shredding option among corporations and public bodies alike following the January 1st adoption of The Freedom Of Information Act in Scotland. Not surprising I suppose given that such bodies will now be obliged, by law, to reveal their darkest secrets to anyone who expresses an interest. It is a little known fact that more than ten years ago, the forward looking Chief Constable of Lothian and Borders Police, Sir William Sutherland introduced his own ‘shredding policy’ during the so called ‘Magic Circle’ affair in which allegations of wrongdoing in Edinburgh legal circles linked to rent –boys and contained in a leaked document, caused a wee bit of a stooshie in the upper echelons. His motivations for so doing were, I think simple, to save his own butt, at which, it has to be said, he was successful. Unfortunately this was at the expense of the reputations of some of his most experienced detectives, myself included, whose careers were ruined by his lack of ‘bottle’. But hey, in his favour, the stakes were high!

The well publicized ‘Whitewash’ enquiry given under parliamentary privilege to ensure immunity for its author William Nimmo-Smith QC – now Lord Nimmo-Smith QC ( or to give him his SUNday name ‘NIMMO THE DIMMO’ which surfaced in that newspaper when he himself leaked information on his report to a well known criminal posing as a journalist. But to be fair, he did say he was from the Telegraph ) agreed and put all the blame on ‘a few rogue detectives.’ How very convient – and predictable!

So, to the present and the Freedom of Information Act. An internal police enquiry was launched by the bold Sir William in an attempt to find out who was responsible for this terrible state of affairs and it was as a direct result of that enquiry – which proved inconclusive - that myself and a number of other very experienced detectives found them selves back in uniform bringing that experience to bear on domestic disputes and traffic accidents. Since that time I have requested of Sir William and his successors the right of access to the report concerned but this has been denied. The reason given being that it was an internal report made for the Chief Constable and as such, was for his eyes only.

Well no longer, I have taken advice on the matter and I am told that under the new legislation this stance is no longer sustainable. Eight days ago I posted a letter to Sir William’s latest incarnation Tommy Padkins sorry Paddy Tomkins asking (again!) But,
being a realist I think my only hope is that they were still using the Sutherlandian Shredder and that the recent feverish activity sent it into overload before they got to the report in question!

Watch This Space.

3.3.05

Surprise,surprise it was destroyed before the Act took effect. They did give me what they call a reportcard(takes you back doesn't it) which states in terms that I was strongly suspected of being the 'leak' as I had voiced strong opinions about the Crown Office decisions - dangerous things strong opinions! - However the crime that led to my return to uniform was that heineous one of 'failing to keep my pocketbook up to date!!!"

Lets have a go at the Crown Office now -see what they've got in their locked cupboards!

to be contd.

End Of The World Is Nigh - Official

2005-01-11T10:04:00.000Z
There have been many false dawns in the prophecy of doom field but now there can be no doubt. Sit on a low stool,place your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye - it's coming - GERMAINE GREER IS ON 'BIG BROTHER!!!!!!!!!!'

2004-10-22T17:02:00.000+01:00

The Truth Is, There is No Spoon.

What is Deep Ecology?

2004-10-12T13:21:00.000+01:00
Deep Ecology is a phrase, a label if you like, which means many different things to different people,doubtless suffers from misuse and, in many cases hijacking by whatever vaguely green cause is flavour of the month. It is a concept that I believe can only be properly understood when one has first come to deeply realise and accept as truth that everything physically constructed by man in this world of ours – everything- came first from the earth, from the ground and has therefore no permanence. This can be fairly easily comprehended on a purely intellectual level and is doubtless readily done so by the tiny minority of us who afford it even a passing thought. However, to get at the real essence of what this means one has to move beyond intellectual pondering to feeling the deep, the original truth of this matter and it is from this standpoint only, that one can then move forward to the second fundamental acceptance – that of the interrelatedness and consequently the interdependence of all things.
c.j.o Edinburgh – Oct ‘04

Walking To Corrie

2004-10-09T01:27:00.000+01:00
Gravel crunching underfoot I walk the shifting sandspit,
following a new laid tideline of storm brought leaves.
Resting seals look on nonchalantly from offshore skerries as,
treading carefully, I cross the sea-pooled machair,
lunching on purpling brambles by the birchwood edge.
Dry footing through reedy bogland, a grey backed heron takes flight
as I step nimbly to reach the sculpted red sandstone
of a windswept autumn shore.

cjo. Arran ‘04

Shoreline

2004-09-06T20:49:00.000+01:00
Walking the shore,
Bare shore,
Barefoot shore.

Tide line, waveline,
life line.
Wet on dry sand.

Rain squall,
Shapeshifting squall,
Gulls call.

And behind the grey headland
Only
Rainbow
Rainbow
Rainbow.

(Fife Coast- August 2004)

Artwork

2004-08-29T19:27:00.000+01:00
The occasional framed picture that may appear from time to time in this journal is not simply some picture that I happen to like. It is artwork that I have created in an attempt to open up that largely unexplored territory, where visual form and verse meet – especially where both arise from the same creative source. - c.j.o.

Standing stones - Callanish,Isle of Lewis.

2004-08-29T16:47:00.000+01:00

Callanish

CALLANISH

2004-08-29T16:26:00.000+01:00

To stand below the sky at Callanish
is to feel the meaning of spirit
to realise our part in the universe
and to know that what may seem important
in our daily lives is but a speck in the eye of time.
c.j.o.

2004-08-28T08:50:00.000+01:00
"We have learned that humanity can cultivate its intellect to an astonishing level of accomplishment without becoming master of its soul"
Herman Hesse Siddhartha

2004-08-27T13:47:00.000+01:00

On The Helly Hansen V Trail - Glentress

The Glentress Phenomenon

2004-08-27T13:29:00.000+01:00
I've just returned from a holiday in Morzine widely recognised as the Mountainbike Capital of the world and, good as it was, our very own mecca now the biggest 'Tourist Attraction' in the Scottish Borders still gets my vote.
Compared with the Morzine runs Glentress is very much man-made as opposed to the 'natural' ungroomed trails in the Alps and,it could be argued, is a bit more forgiving for the 'middle range' rider like myself. Having said that if you can do the 18miles of the 'Black' rated Helly Hansen 'V' Trail, the Glentress showpiece, in around 2hrs you'll get all the excitement you want with a trip in the ambulance always only a concentration lapse away!
The once ski-based economy of Morzine has been extended by Mountain Biking to all year round. Perhaps with a little imagination this could be the saviour of the all but dead Scottish Ski Industry!

2004-08-27T12:28:00.000+01:00

Sea Otters - Summer Isles

Virtual Adventure

2004-08-27T11:45:00.000+01:00
The death a few years back of former Scotsman editor Sir Alistair Dunnett brought me to read his wonderful book ‘Quest By Canoe’ written in 1951(recently republished as ‘The Canoe Boys’) and referred to in an appreciation of his life by his partner in this adventure James (Seamus) Adam. The book describes in a wonderfully easy prose style a true seat of the pants, taste it and see, adventure, involving these two young men purchasing canoes of questionable seaworthiness, and setting off on a trip round the often hostile waters of the Western Isles of Scotland.

‘Any sort of sea would constantly search its way through the deck lacing, while we were to know many an occasion when it would break solidly into the cockpit itself’ (Quest by Canoe)

It is just this type of adventure and exploration of both landscape, and perhaps more importantly, of self, that is increasingly denied the youth of today. Denied in the name of safety, of prudence and the perceived need to worship at the altar of an ever burgeoning, cosseting and costly ‘outdoor industry.’ An ‘industry’ which would have you believe that those of us who have an aversion to throwing money into its coffers and being certified by its courses, should stick very much to the well walked paths of life.

When Alistair and his pal were doing their thing, I would imagine they would look at a map, decide whether or not they should take a raincoat, and off they would go. O.K perhaps I exaggerate, (slightly!) but you can bet your bottom dollar that there weren’t twenty or so glossy Outdoor~ Monthlies telling them that to have any chance of success would entail expenditure which, in present day terms, would probably have been enough to buy them a small house. Neither would they be burdened with the extra cost and worry over which of the hundreds of canoe courses they would have to go on, without which, is
now deemed to make close acquaintance with the grim reaper almost inevitable.

‘We had never seen canoes at close quarters until afew weeks previously, and our only experience of handling them had been on a recent Sunday afternoon on the .(Forth and Clyde Canal. ‘.(Quest by canoe)

We now live in a culture where the vast majority of people would never consider taking a physical risk of any sort and the small minority who do, want to do so in safety. Bit of a paradox that, oxymoron even, a ‘safe risk’, no such beast I think. And herein lies the problem.

Let’s move for the moment from the sandy blue inlets of the west coast to the mountains of Glencoe. Here, duly kitted out in your latest Gore-Tex ‘must haves’ as advertised in’ Ever Decreasing Outdoors’ monthly, you sign. up for a winter mountaineering course and by the end of the week, courtesy of a large dent in your Visa Card, superb weather and the company of two radio controlled guides to provide a psychological safety net, you and your girlfriend/boyfriend/partner have climbed Crowberry Gully a l000ft ice-climbing test piece on Buchaille Etive Mor. After returning to your jobs in the city, your new found ability, coupled with a high disposable income, makes you an easy target for an advert in yet another glossy and before you know it you have ‘climbed’ to the summit of ‘Mont Blanc’ in the company of twenty or thirty other ‘out on the edge’ types roped to some grumpy French guides on a percentage from the travel company (If you have a spare 20 grand they’ll take you up Everest apparently’) Finance, or to be more precise, lack of it, was not such a problem for the ‘Canoe Boys’

‘Here we were now, afloat, and our total cash amounted to four shillings and sevenpence!’ (Quest by Canoe)

I don’t think that this sanitised, plastic, and apparently safe ‘adventure’ (what happens when you’ve done the courses and the guides aren’t there and the weather’s not quite like the brochures) quite fits in with Sir Alistair’s ethos. It may go some way to exploring the physical landscape, albeit in a perfunctory manner, but as far as journeying through that all important ‘inner landscape,’ it doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

‘Our steel has rusted in the night;
We fail unless we make it good
Seek increase of our little might
And gather up our hardihood ‘(Quest by Canoe).

Anyone fancy a ‘virtual reality’ canoe trip round the Western Isles!

WWW.ARMCHALR.ADV.CO.UK.

Dharma Clips

2004-08-26T18:06:00.000+01:00
Things are not what they seem;nor are they otherwise.
Lankavatra Sutra

2004-08-25T20:56:00.000+01:00

2004-08-25T19:40:00.000+01:00

2004-08-23T23:06:00.000+01:00

On the Ice and Frozen Turf of Invernookie

INVERNOOKIE

2004-08-23T22:59:00.000+01:00

A bright blue sky and more importantly a windless morning greets us as we park the car in the Coire Cas car park at the Cairngorm ski centre. I use the word windless in a relative sense, because in this part of the world that condition rarely, if ever, applies. I have driven from Edinburgh on what seemed a fine day, arriving here to find that I was unable to get the car door open because of the wind and, on another occasion, I witnessed stones being lifted off the ground and smashing car windscreens – all we can say with certainty is, that on this occasion, it is relatively windless.

The day’s target is ‘Invernookie.’ No, nothing sexual, simply the name of a winter climb in Coire an t- Sneachda one of the Northern Corries of the Cairngorms. It may come as a surprise to the uninitiated to find that winter climbing is not simply a case of starting at the bottom of a face and getting to the top. The ice-clad cliffs of Scotland are covered in very well documented ‘routes’ of varying degrees of difficulty, all mapped out in the relevant guidebook for the area concerned, a process which has been going on for over a hundred years. In the old days the naming of these routes was a fairly straightforward business, for example, routes like ‘Central Gully’ and ‘Left Edge’ were simply denoting position on the face; while ‘Raeburn’s Gully’ and ‘Patey’s Route’ were named after the first ascentionists. Today we range from the esoteric such as ‘The Glass Bead Game’ on Beinn Dorain to the sexually punning ‘Hoarmaster’ in the neighbouring Coire Lochain, and ‘Invernookie’ - well who knows?

The great attraction of the Northern Corries of the Cairngorms as a winter playground for climbers lies in the fact that when you get out of your car, (wind permitting!) you are already at 1600ft and an hour or so of brisk walking can see you at the foot of the climbs. Somewhat different from the days of the pioneers when the nearest roadhead was ten miles away!

There is not a lot of snow on the ground and as we slip and skid our way along the well worn but icy track that leads away from the car park towards the climbing area, we become aware of a new feature in the landscape. The Cairngorm Funicular is no longer a political argument - it is a fact. The concrete track snaking its way up the hill will doubtless improve the rate of uplift for skiers and it could be argued that at least it is an improvement to an existing development rather than an intrusion into a totally new area, as was so long on the cards with the Lurcher’s Gully proposals.

Arriving in the inner corrie we walk easily over the frozen lochan where, this time last year, I took an early bath, breaking through thin ice cunningly concealed under a layer of powder snow which, needless to say, led to a quick cancellation of our first appointment with ‘Invernookie.’ We make our way down into the bowl below the north face in order to avoid traversing a treacherous boulder field and here,on the steepening snow slopes below the climbs, we pass a number of groups practising the rudiments of ice-axe braking under the watchful eye of instructors from Glenmore Lodge Outdoor Centre and the other ‘Guiding’ organisations which, long established in Europe, have now become a prominent feature of Scottish Mountaineering.

Our route lies over to the right on the steep face below the Fiacaill Ridge much beloved of calender photographers and those beginning to cut their teeth in the often unforgiving arena of Scottish Winter climbing . Another twenty minutes of uphill toil brings us into the foot of our route where, donning harnesses and crampons, we rope up amid showers of fine snow or ‘spindrift’ being blown off the plateau 300ft above.

‘Invernookie,’ like most of the climbs in the Northern Corries, is what is termed a mixed climb in that it is not achieved on ice alone but on a mixture of snow, iced up rock and frozen turf. Leading the first section or pitch with my companion solidly belayed to a metal ‘piton’ hammered into the rock below, I find conditions to be rather thin. There is little ice, which means that much of the time progress is on frozen turf and, when that is not available, height is won by the slightly more precarious use of ice axe blades torqued into cracks in the rock.

I suppose to the layman this all sounds rather improbable but the truth of the matter is that ‘Invernookie’ gave up it’s secrets in three relatively straight forward pitches, the only really tense moment being when my crampon became entangled in a sling below me at a particularly inopportune moment. In order to extricate myself, my ageing bones had to perform what I imagine to be third degree Hatha Yoga while suspended above a considerable drop from the point of one axe! I often think that a distinct lack of imagination is a positive attribute in Winter climbing.

We had been climbing in the shade of the face for an hour and a half and it was a joy to be out on the ridge and into the relative warmth of the sunshine again. The walk round the rim of the corrie in the roseate glow of late afternoon is wonderful. The sculpted cornices overhanging the face, which, in another few weeks, will reach prodigious proportions, are just beginning to form and pose no great problem to the climber who pops his head up in front of us having climbed the last pitch of the ‘Crotched Gully’ route.

As we approach the line of the headwall of Coire- Cas we are presented in graphic fashion with the paradox that is the Northern Corries. Looking south we see the low sun illuminating the raw beauty and silent arctic wilderness of the Cairngorm plateau, while the view immediately north leads the eye back to the ski area, to the car park, to restaurants and to noise. However I must admit that I’m not adverse to a good days skiing and perhaps the Northern Corries is, as Voltaire was wont to say, “ The best of all possible worlds.”

2004-08-23T22:14:00.000+01:00

The Innaccesible Pinnacle-Cuillin Ridge-Skye

Munroists Everest

2004-08-23T22:05:00.000+01:00

For the aspirant Munroist there is one summit which looms large in their sub-conscious from the time that the fateful obsession to start ticking the 284 3000ft summits of Scotland takes hold. A summit which, for most, keeps getting put off and put off again for yet another day, until the time arrives when it can be ignored no longer. That summit is the ‘Inaccessible Pinnacle’ of Sgurr Dearg, one of ten Munros which make up Skye’s Black Cuillin Ridge. However it is clear that prior to the birth of the Munroism cult, the Inaccessible Pinnacle did not attract the reverence it does today. Sheriff Nicolson of Skye had this to say of it in 1874 “It might be possible with ropes and grappling irons to overcome it, but the achievement seems hardly worth the trouble” Not so today.

Why then should a relatively small rock pinnacle, 100ft from top to base, have such an effect on these poor unfortunates? The answer is quite simple, it is that very pinnacle which makes Sgurr Dearg the only one of the Munros that requires rock climbing skills. Sure, there are many which are airy and exposed, An-Tellach and the tops of Glencoe’s Aonach Egach ridge come immediately to mind, but these are attained by what I would term rock scrambling rather than actual roped climbing. In 1880 the ‘In Pin’, as it is known to the cognescenti ,was first climbed by the Pilkington brothers and was described as “A razor- like edge with an overhanging and infinite drop on one side, and a drop longer and steeper on the other!”

Having climbed the Pinnacle myself more than once, I was recently put upon ( not that I neededed much persuasion) by a group of walkers who, to a man/woman, had fallen under Munros spell, and asked to accompany them to Skye with the avowed purpose of assisting them in completing an ascent of the Pinnacle, the Munroists ‘Everest.’ We stayed the night before the climb at the Glen Brittle Memorial Hut, built in remembrance of climbers who fell in the Great War. This ‘hut’ is really a well appointed cottage, hut being a euphemism used by climbers as a ruse aimed at partners who might think that they could possibly be away for the weekend enjoying themselves! It is in a wonderful location, situated at the bottom of the Glen about half a mile from the sea and with the full majesty of the Cuillin Ridge rising to over 3000ft virtually right out of the front garden.

The morning of our proposed ascent was rather overcast with just a hint of drizzle but, as I explained to my charges over coffee, the fact that we could see the tops at all was in itself unusual. This did little to allay their misgivings and there was not a lot of banter as we made our way up the steep screes of Coire Lagan.

When, two hours later, we reached the base of the Pinnacle itself the weather had cleared but the silence among my companions was palpable. The geological origin of this hundred foot horn of rock that had definitely grabbed their attention, is that it is composed of hard gabbro which once lay between dykes of softer basalt, subsequent erosion having left it standing proud of its surroundings. It has two normal ways of ascent, a long relatively easier climb on the east side where the main problem is the degree of exposure experienced while climbing. The shorter, steeper and technically harder west side was more attractive for the days purpose making it faster and easier for me to protect the ascent and, just as importantly, the descent of ten very nervous individuals.

I tied into the rope and could feel ten pairs of eyes following my every move as I soloed up the route and clipped the rope into a wire sling left permanently round the summit block. I felt it important that the first of the summiteers should make it look as easy as possible in order to give the others a much needed confidence boost and, to that end, I chose the youngest and fittest male from a group that were finding it increasingly difficult to hide behind one another on this bare mountaintop. He shot up the climb like the veritable scalded cat on a mixture of fear and adrenalin and so, I’m glad to say, in somewhat slower progression, did the other nine with varying degrees of style.

Needless to say there was a buzz of excitement as the successful group gathered on the narrow summit but their exuberance was still mixed with a tinge of apprehension. The only way down from this airy perch is by abseil and I was glad that I had spent an evening in Edinburghs Blackford quarry teaching my charges the rudiments of this skill, which has often proved the undoing of even the most experienced of climbers. An hour later all were gathered again safely at the foot of the Pinnacle where they more than made up for the lack of banter earlier in the day.

Later that night in the Sligachan Inn, champagne corks were popped, drams taken and tales of derring do circulated, much as one would expect amongst those who had newly joined that select band of adventurers made party to the mysteries of the ‘In Pin.’

Note: One of the party Archie Tollin, at the grand old age of 74 is included as number 2464 in this years list of completing Munroists published in The Scottish Mountaineering Club Journal.

First published in The Scots Magazine 2001

Paying The Piper

2004-08-23T21:39:00.000+01:00

Vodka days spent huddled and alone
in the darkest corners of my mind
seem to blend and blur into a manic
frieze of disjointed imagery

As in a daze I contemplate the ultimate
in escape from my tyrant master,
feeling the sharp tang of cold metal on
my tongue as I reach for the trigger.

The image breaks,moves on and tears come
slowly as I search pockets of copper
for the price of my next fix,
the one that will ease the pain.

cjo.

Throwing In The Towel

2004-08-23T21:22:00.000+01:00

I mark my sobriety every year by the age of my youngest daughter, I am one of the lucky ones – she is now seventeen.
It strikes me that the conflict analogy most often used with regard to recovery from alcoholism the ‘battle’ with the bottle, the ‘fight’ against drink is an unhelpful one. This is a battle that cannot be won and therefore a fight best not entered into. I say this from painful experience because I climbed into the ring in this contest many many times and suffered some fearful batterings in a mismatch that would only ever have one outcome. The truth is that it is only when one refuses to compete and throws in the towel that recovery can truly begin.
When I stopped drinking I truly believed that I was entering what could be described as a ‘greyscale’ world, a world where everything would be boring, dull and uninteresting but things were so bad I was willing to live with that. Examining that kind of thinking from where I am now only serves to confirm what many people forget, that as well as being a physical illness alcoholism is most certainly a mental illness, how else can you account for such a warped worldview.
To those of you struggling out there I can only tell you that if you throw in the towel and are willing to truly and deeply change your mind, by which I mean change your way of thinking about alcohol and your relationship to it, there is a wonderful, bright, technicolour world out here
full of possibilities that you never thought existed.
One other thing, I don’t worry who knows I am an alcoholic, it is a part of me. I now look on my years of active alcoholism as a crucible through which my present character has been refined.
One tip though, don’t wait too long - some die in the fire.

Charlie Orr (51), former Detective Lothian and Borders Police

First Published in The Scotsman 2004

An Affinity With Stars (For Giannis Ritsos)

2004-08-23T20:37:00.000+01:00
To think of stars,
to internalise them,
feed from them
in times of darkness
gives me strength,
a strength my torturers
find difficult to understand.
cjo

2004-08-23T19:52:00.000+01:00

'King Of The Mountains' Reaching the top of the Tourmalet.

King Of The Mountains (2001)

2004-08-23T18:01:00.000+01:00

That I am now a cyclist ‘of a certain age’ should be clear when I say that my boyhood heroes of ‘The Tour de France’ were Eddy Merkcx and Jacques Anquetil and, in these far off days, the thought of an American taking part in, never mind winning the most coveted prize in cycling for the third time in 2001 was unheard of.

While holidaying in the Pyrenees in July that year, I had the privilege of seeing this ‘unheard of’ New World figure in the shape of Lance Armstrong of the U.S. Postal team dominate his rivals in this the toughest sporting event in the world. I saw him ride gracefully over the 6000’ Col du Tourmalet apparently breathing through his ears as others struggled in his wake, mouths agape like stranded fish. The German Jan Ullrich of the Deutch Telekomm team, himself a previous winner in 1997 before the onset of the ‘Armstrong era’, was the only one who managed to stay with him, sticking doggedly to his wheel over the toughest climbs in the Alps and now, on this the last of the Pyrenean mountain stages, sticking manfully to his task without being able to make any impression on the piston like climbing machine in yellow. On the final brutal climb of this 100 mile stage to the ski station of Luz Ardiden, Ullrich attacked time and again but to no avail and as they crossed the line together he offered his hand to Armstrong in acknowledgement of his place as ‘Dauphine’ to the rightful King.

What is it then that drives a relatively sane middle aged man to even contemplate riding any stage of ‘The Tour’ never mind one described in the official guide as ‘the third moral-shatteringly gruelling Pyrenean mountain leg of the 2001 Tour.’ Good question!

It was in March this year that I booked a family holiday in Bareges in the Pyrenees only to find that the village was situated on the slopes of what is in ‘Tour de France’ terms the legendary Col du Tourmalet. Further research showed that the 14th stage from Tarbes to Luz Ardiden passed through the village while we were there and that is when the seed of an idea was planted, to ride
the stage in its entirety the day after The Greats.

I had done some competitive cycling in the seventies with some success but I hadn’t ridden 100 miles at a stretch on a road bike since then, never mind a hundred miles over three of the toughest climbs in cycling, the Col d’Aspin, the Col du Tourmalet and finishing with the climb to the ski station at Luz Ardiden. Tour climbs are categorised from 1 to 4 in order of difficulty. The Aspin is a first category (hardest) and the other two are what is termed ‘Hors du Categorie’ or out of category, which means they are so hard that they don’t even fit into the system!

I started training in April with fifty mile stints from my home in Midlothian and as I grew fitter I increased the distance and more importantly the climbing content of my outings. I made special trips north to climb the biggest and longest we’ve got on the Cairn o’ Mount and the Lecht from Cockbridge to Tomintoul. My final outing in early July before we left for France was the 100mile round trip by St Mary’s Loch to Moffat returning via the climb of the Devil’s Beef Tub.
Was I ready? Well, as ready as I would ever be. The truth of the matter is however, that nothing that you can do in this country can properly prepare you either physically, and more important, mentally, for the enormity of these climbs and when, approaching your fiftieth birthday, you string three of them together with all the other bits in between well - That phrase beloved of the Irish Tourist Board just about covers it, ‘You’ll never know until you go!”

Prior to leaving, my children presented me with the ‘Malliot de pois rouge’ the distinctive red and white polka dot jersey worn by the Tour’s leading climber, ‘The King of The Mountains.’ I hoped I would live up to it.

The afternoon we arrived in Bareges I rode the Tourmalet taking about an hour and a half for the 16km climb. Interestingly on all of the climbs in the area used by the Tour there are marker boards every kilometre which give height, distance to the summit and the average gradient for the next kilometre. How one feels about these is all very much a state of mind, if you are going well, they can be helpful and encouraging, if badly they simply remind you, very slowly, of how far you’ve got to go. I was on this occasion going well and was surprised at the number of cyclists doing the climb, but I suppose, given that I was at a ‘Tour’ mecca six days before it was to pass, perhaps I shouldn’t have been. On the climb I was passed on three occasions but consoled myself with the fact that these guys were less than half my age and of course the half dozen or so that I passed were also younger, or so I told myself. I was aware here of the folly of treating what I was attempting to do as some sort of race, do that and I would undoubtedly fail. Completion was the name of the game.

On Sunday 22nd July, the Tour and it’s accompanying cavalcade of advertising vehicles and team cars passed through the village. The cavalcade precedes the riders by about an hour and a half and gives the whole thing a carnival atmosphere reminiscent of the annual Festival cavalcade on Edinburgh’s Princes Street, as free gifts and samples of the sponsors wares are distributed among the crowds. The Tourmalet is used regularly on the Tour route, sometimes the riders are climbing through the village and sometimes descending, this was a descent year and at speeds in excess of 50mph they swooped down through the village in a multi- coloured lycra torrent and were gone, on towards the 16km rigours of the climb toLuz Ardiden and the finish of their days labours.

10am the next day saw me in the car- park of the ‘Champion’ supermarket on the outskirts of the town of Tarbes. An omen perhaps? ‘Champion’ are the sponsors of the ‘King of The Mountains’ competition, their colours being the red and white of the ‘pois rouge’ which I was wearing. Bike assembled, I stuffed my pockets with bananas and energy bars. A light rain top and a puncture repair outfit completed my kit as my wife and daughter waved me off.

The first forty five miles took a pleasant route through the relatively flat countryside although two category three climbs and a category four sapped some energy which would have been useful at the end of the day. At this stage, I was grateful for the considerable cloud cover which was present, unlike the previous few days where we had experienced what the French refer to as ‘Le Grand Chaleur’ the big heat, when the sun beats down from clear blue skies from morning till night. After about an hour I started to eat and drink from the two 2 litre bottles I was carrying. It is never very pleasant forcing food down during hard exercise like this but it is essential if you are to avoid ‘bonking’ later in the day. An alien concept for British youth you might think but there is something lost in the translation ‘bonking’ is in fact cyclespeak for hypoglycaemia or what marathon runners refer to as ‘hitting the wall.’

The village of Arreau marked the end of the foothills and the 14km climb of the Col d’Aspin loomed ahead as I settled into a steady rhythm. It is a pleasant climb wooded all the way to the summit offering some shade from the sun which now burned down unremittingly. As I neared the summit a young lad overtook me going like a train and was standing arms folded and smiling smugly at the top as I passed. It was at this point that I thought that it would have been a good idea to have a sign on my back saying ‘Only doing one? I’m doing the whole f****** stage. Please pass if you can!’ Translation difficulties and the extra weight would have caused problems though.

On the extensive flat summit of the Aspin you have to thread your way through the resident herd of Charolais cattle who live there and who, being used to the tourists, can be a bit stubborn. Having safely negotiated this obstacle I began what is for me one of the great pleasures of mountain cycling, the descent. Swooping valleywards, skilfully negotiating tight hairpin bends and passing cars at speeds in excess of 40mph is a wonderful experience although one has to be very careful not to overcook things on the bends. This can happen to even the best as when millions of television viewers throughout the world saw Jan Ullrich somersault through the air detached from his bike on a big descent earlier in the race.

Safely in the valley I stopped to pull on my jacket for the short run to St Marie-de-Campane at the foot of The Tourmalet. A thick fog had gathered on the valley floor making things decidedly chilly especially after sweating in the sunshine on the climb. I had a brief stop at the village fountain in St Marie to replenish my supplies and was pleased to note that I had drunk over three litres of liquid since starting. Bottles filled and jacket off again, I got down to the serious business of climbing the Tourmalet. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and I was five hours into the stage and it did cross my mind that Armstrong & co would have finished by now but he is twenty years younger than me after all (apart from being the best in the world)!

Unlike the Aspin, on the Tourmalet your are quickly out of the trees and there was no shelter from the sun which had firmly re-established itself. I was still climbing well but when the road ahead reared up to an average 12% through the ski centre of La Mongie I was made distinctly aware of the difference of today’s venture when compared to the one off climb I had done earlier in the week. The speed dropped and I could have done with one gear lower than I had. The zig-zag hairpins below the summit seemed to go on forever and they were a mass of multi coloured paint where supporters had written the names of their favourites on the road. Unfortunately no one had written ‘Allez ORR’ on the road although my wife and daughter had tried to get paint in Arreau earlier in the day but the French were having their famous dinner hour(s) and the shops were shut. They were there to cheer me over the summit of the climb though but I was by this time having doubts as to whether or not I would make it to the finish.

This descent was fast but not enjoyable as I was nursing a stiffening neck and lower back and. as I stopped to don my jacket again, my resolve was at it’s lowest. The proximity of my wife and the car didn’t help matters but my insurance policy did. I had made a point of telling people back home what my intentions were and I didn’t fancy having to admit defeat besides which, I knew if I didn’t do it now, the way my mind works would make it unfinished business and I didn’t fancy going through it all again. So Luz Ardiden it was. I knew that descending through Bareges past the flat where we were staying and a potential hot bath might be a weak point but as it was my crises was past and I was soon through the bustling town of Luz St Saveur and onto the final climb to the finish.

It was here I started playing mind games with myself. Another of my cycling heroes Glasgow born Robert Millar past Tour stage winner and King of The Mountains came to mind. I was he, on a lone break, now only minutes ahead of the chasing peleton on the climb to stage victory at Luz Ardiden. It didn’t make me go faster but it did help to take my mind of the pain and effort as the kilometre boards crept slowly by. Now in single figures, 9km to go, my family passed in the car en-route to the summit and I was glad that they had made the decision not to stop on the way. The final bends to the summit were brutally steep but ------------------

Millar is climbing well he hasn’t lost his rythym.2km to the finish and Scotland’s Robert Millar is going to take the Polka Dot jersey of the King of The Mountains. He is out of the saddle now forcing his way into what seems like a solid wall of spectators. Horns blaring, the lead vehicles carve a path for him round the final bend. Robert Millar of Scotland is there, he’s there, he’s over the line. Robert Millar triumphs at Luz Ardiden.

The reality was a cold empty car park area with fog gathering round piles of rubbish and dismantled barriers from the real stage finish the day before. The thousands of spectators gathered up here in the sky to cheer their heroes had all gone home. I slumped over the handlebars, I was sobbing with emotion. I had ridden one of the hardest mountain stages of the Tour de France.

I started this article with a question about motivation, the answer I think is clear, for a day I was
riding in the path of giants, I was fulfilling a dream and unless you have that dream don’t do it, it’s too sore.

The Great Call Centre Conspiracy

2004-08-23T17:19:00.000+01:00

‘Sorry for the delay – Your call is important to us – you are in a queue and your call will be answered as soon as the first customer service agent becomes available.’

Sound familiar? The soothing tones of one of the great cons of the modern age, the Lesser Spotted Call Centre. (Lesser spotted because many are apparently migrating to India!) It’s not too far fetched to imagine that you could soon be transacting business based at the Bank of ABC
Dundee branch via a call centre in Bombay! This deeply felt, pre recorded and oft to be repeated apology is invariably accompanied by the usual Air on a G String, Four Seasons or whatever else is available from the ‘Best Of Classical’ sausage machine and is likely to be faintly recognisable to the malleable and gullible masses - if only as ‘the one from the Hovis Advert,’ The Onedin Line or whatever happens to be flavour of the month at the time.

How do they get away with it? The maths are simple. Sweep the big net far and wide and hook as many calls as possible but, and here’s the clever bit, don’t land them, put them indefinitely into a holding pen, at their own expense, until your intentionally vastly under staffed operator section can deal with them in their own time. It’s actually the same as before, if the office is busy, you don’t get through but at least under the old system you knew you weren’t getting through and, more importantly, it wasn’t costing you anything. Under ‘The New Order’ you’re still not getting through, only you think you are, the wait is longer because they’ve used a bigger net and, you’re happily shelling out for the privilege.

These companies, Banks, Building Societies or whatever, who all spend vast amounts advertising how good their service is, would have us believe that the Call Centre system is in place to help them deal better and more efficiently with our calls and they never tire of telling us so. But the reality of the matter is that, OK it might route calls more efficiently to the departments able to deal with them, but, if these departments are, because of advanced technology and an eye focused solely on profit, cut to the bone as far as, I think they call staff ‘human resources’ now, is concerned then there is no way, other than dead slow and stop, that they can deal with the overflowing denizens of the holding pens.

As I’ve said, the maths couldn’t be simpler, so simple in fact that companies can not possibly be oblivious to the obvious that 500 into 15 won’t go efficiently, irrespective of whether or not it’s routed through 50 on the way! It obviously suits them to operate in this manner, their systems are designed this way, it is not something they are striving to improve no matter how much the front line ‘complaint fielders’ would have you believe otherwise. This is how they want it. But there is, for them, one flaw in the operation, a flaw which is beyond their direct control and that is that it relies completely on the unthinking, uncomplaining compliance of those who are having their bellies tickled in the pens and who seem quite happy to swim about aimlessly, often for 20minutes and more being soothed by calming music and listening to the pre-recorded platitudes of ‘The Company,’ while paying for the privilege so to do.

We are victims of our own complacency, because in order to try and do something about this situation, which I don’t imagine any customer can be particularly happy about, requires more than complaining to the person who eventually answers the phone. They work from a script and won’t or, one suspects often can’t, go outwith that. That’s how it’s designed you see, nobody to shout at, nobody accessible to take responsibility and certainly nobody accessible who can initiate change. I started this article with some idea of it being a ‘Lets wake up and do something about this’ rallying call but, as I reach the point where I should be advising you how to go about this, the only method I can come up with other than direct action! is writing letters of complaint to all and sundry and that just seems so damned inadequate.

I suspect that the Lesser Spotted Call Centre will thrive and indeed proliferate, with many mutations springing up in the economically attractive Far East. The majority of us will be content to flap our tails idly in the shadow of a lilypad while being gently soothed by piped Pavarotti. while a militant minority, with which I am well acquainted, will continue to shout and curse ineffectually at the poor wee lassie who eventually becomes free to deal with the head of the queue.

What is the time difference between Delhi and Dundee anyway?

http://www.dhankosa.comPilgrims Progress

2004-08-23T16:40:00.000+01:00

Driving north along the shores of Loch Lubnaig I was on auto pilot, after all I had driven this road a hundred times in all weathers, winter and summer. It was as I left Callander, a place I’ve always regarded as one of the gateways to the Highlands, that I realised that this was the first time in years that I had passed this way without a boot full of climbing gear, a bike on the back or a kayak on the roof, and on some occasions even all three! This time all I had was an overnight bag and a set of directions to a Buddhist retreat centre on the shores of Loch Voil.

Midlife crisis? existential angst? curiosity? none of them quite seemed to fit. Why would a fifty one year old former hard drinking Edinburgh cop, more at home with cynisim, conflict and aggression (a direct result of 25 years exposure to said profession some might say!) find himself driving into the car park of the ‘Dhanakosha’ retreat centre, a former Highland Hotel near Balquiddher, in the heart of Rob Roy country?

It’s a difficult question to even try and answer but what I can tell you is, that as the car crunched up the gravel path, my arriving there seemed as inevitable as Frodo Baggins’ arrival at Mount Doom - and for an acknowledged introvert, bordering on the anti social, just as scary.

I had for many years had a passing interest in the possibilities of meditation and, like many, had more than once bought a book and had a go, usually for all of ten minutes! I also had some vague knowledge of the Samye-Ling Tibetan Buddhist Centre in the Scottish Borders and had often thought fleetingly of ‘chilling out’ there, as I then saw it, for a few days.

Who knows when or how this journey started but what I can tell you is that the final impetus to explore Buddhism in a more meaningful way came when having signed up for an MA in Literature with the Open University and done some preliminary reading I began to ask myself why am I doing this? I had already completed the B.A. Hons (Lit) a six year course – did I need more of the same? The result was I pulled the plug on it. And under the influence of ‘Google’ (sounds like something the cops would be interested in!) I found myself doing the introductory Course at the Edinburgh Buddhist Centre. This in turn led to Sangha nights on a Tuesday where a discussion with the Venerable Webmaster (very Tibetan!) Chris, fresh back from retreat himself and bubbling with enthusiasm, led me to the gates of Dhanakosha.

I don’t intend to go into the theme of the retreat because that wasn’t really my reason for going. Suffice to say it was on the subject of ‘Non Violent Communication.’ and was very Americanised – not surprising as the whole concept was founded by an American, Marshall B. Rosenberg. I did learn some interesting things about myself in this context though and took away some positive ideas for change. But I’m still wondering about the brushed nylon giraffe! (intriguing isn’t it!).

Living with other people, strangers for a whole weekend was new to me but I was much more relaxed about it than I thought I would be. The highlight of the weekend as far as I was concerned was the morning and evening meditations in the shrine room. These were led by Smitiratna who is a member of the Western Buddhist Order and part of the resident community at Dhanakosha. The shrineroom is a beautiful building, a converted barn or stable I think, and given that my only previous experience of group meditation was in the, at times, rather cramped Edinburgh centre, the feeling of space was wonderful. The evening mediation was completed with the chanting of the Tara mantra to the sound of a heart rhythm drumbeat –a magical experience and one which I have since included in my own practice.

We awoke on Sunday morning to find the place blanketed in snow from a heavy overnight fall and after morning practice, which I just about missed – I’m a bit deaf and because, like bats, my hearing aids come out at night, I didn’t hear the wake up bell at 7.30am which I am assured is loud enough to wake the dead! – I went for a walk up the hillside at the back of the centre. The water on the Loch below was like glass, reflecting the surrounding hills and forest so completely that it would be hard to tell reflection from reality - (reality?).

My first experience of being on retreat was all I thought it would be and I am looking forward to further retreats at Dhanakosha and elsewhere becoming a central part of my practice. I’ve just found out about a working retreat in November at Guhyaloka, a centre very much off the beaten track in the Spanish Mountains – sounds just the job.

Sam get your bags packed, we’re off again !