The Truth Is, There is No Spoon. 

What is Deep Ecology?

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

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

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

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.

Callanish 

CALLANISH

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.

"We have learned that humanity can cultivate its intellect to an astonishing level of accomplishment without becoming master of its soul"
Herman Hesse Siddhartha

On The Helly Hansen V Trail - Glentress 

The Glentress Phenomenon

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!

Sea Otters - Summer Isles 

Dharma Clips

Things are not what they seem;nor are they otherwise.
Lankavatra Sutra

On the Ice and Frozen Turf of Invernookie  

INVERNOOKIE

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.”

The Innaccesible Pinnacle-Cuillin Ridge-Skye 

Munroists Everest

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

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

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