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I write about
Slackdhu time and time again. It's my home territory, but today there
there was something extra. It was my first walk since my hillwalking
partner and friend Michael Coffield died at the too-young age of 28. If
I were to write about this Slackdhu walk, then it would make little sense
without first mentioning the background story.
I met Michael in May 2009, and began walking a lot with him in August.
We climbed the Northern Highland Munros, the Fisherfield Mountains, many of
the Loch Quoich-Glen Shiel peaks, Glen Lochay (Killin), and did winter
ascents of a few Glen Coe peaks. We also commonly climbed at night, did
Ciste Dhubh in a whiteout in the early hours of a December morning,
climbed the Buachaille Etive Mor in wonderfully atrocious winter
conditions and did Meall Ghaordaidh on a pitch black night, the sky
ablaze with stars.
In short, I had a lot of good memories. He asked me on the afternoon of
the 13th February if I wanted to do Mayar, Driesh and the Lochnagar
peaks. I had to turn it down because a rehearsal on Friday night was
keeping me in Glasgow. He went up anyway and in the style he was good
at, climbed Mayar and Driesh Friday night, got a couple hours rest
before setting off up the Lochnagar peaks on the Saturday. Amazingly, he
did them from Glen Doll in the south, in a white-out much of the time
and made it safely back to his van. He drove across to Glenshee where he
planned to sleep for a few hours before probably intending to return home.
But by Sunday night, no one had heard from him in over 24 hours. A
search began and the police were out. Kevin McKeown drove the long miles
to the area to find no trace of Michael or his van. On Tuesday morning,
MunroMagic.com forum regular and friend to Michael and I, Mackenzie,
gave me the terrible news that Michael had passed away in the back of
his van, knowing nothing had happened. He died in the early hours of
Sunday morning, even before the alarm was raised.
When the news of his death was fresh, my ambition to climb or to do
almost anything had vanished.
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday passed by and by Friday I felt ready to
have a go at the mountains again to see what and how I felt about it.
While I hadn't felt like climbing over the preceding week, I'd suspected
my motivations would remain intact. When I went out to Strathblane on
the Friday morning, I knew I hadn't lost it. The sun was out, the sky
blue and defiant Slackdhu sat behind a veil of haze. It looked
enormous and equally magnificent.
I traced out my normal route with my eye, my stomach knotting as I
passed the crags and snowfields.
But I could do it and had done it many times before, it's easy.
But that mountain looks huge...
I felt like I'd never even been here before. I was looking at the
mountains with unique eyes, feeling things I hadn't felt since I was a
little boy when the mountains seemed so inaccessible and high up in the
sky. Something had changed inside since Michael's death. Stray clouds brushed up against the slopes of the mountain and
served to make me feel more in awe. This place left me in awe, I knew I
wouldn't have left it. And so I left Blanefield with chocolate and water
in my bag from the local shop and started up the lower slopes, up the
rough track and past the inquisitive cows. I was carrying quite a lot of
gear in case the snowfields at the crux of the route were frozen
solid and my heart was pounding in no time. It felt good to be panting
away, seeing the product of hard work in the form of the mountain
landscapes before my eyes.
I brought the ice axe out before I reached the snowfields because I knew
I couldn't fumble about with my rucksack on the steep slopes at the snow
where I would need it. It served as a good walking pole and anchor in
the grass anyway, and served as a crucial piece of gear when I reached
the final snowfield before emerging above on the plateau. The melt water from the hard
packed snow had flattened and smoothed the grass upon which I walked.
Two axes would have been more preferable as a means of always having a
solid anchor, but I was across in no time and I headed up onto the
summit.
I'd been busy climbing until the point that I reached the top, and then
the more conventional thoughts rushed back into my head. I'd felt like
this was my first walk back after a long break and memories of Michael
and the search for him were fresh. The reality just hit at the top and I
felt sad that Michael wouldn't see this again. The mountains were so
beautiful, I was alive and he wasn't. I didn't feel guilt, just
unfairness. The emotion couldn't be contained, but I sat in the calm
warm air with many a thought running through my head.
I descended by my 'route #1' (See
route map) to the east of the main
cliff bands, which felt unnerving. Strange this considering it is a
route I almost ran down in November. Recent events seemed to have taken
a hit and I probably wasn't on top form. I got down to the private road
without issue and made my way back to Blanefield.
It had been a strange walk full of hard emotion, unique and sometimes
insightful feelings, but certainly reassured me that I still loved the
mountains. And so I continue climbing. I never forget and probably never
will forget the memory of Michael and all we accomplished together, but
I move on, keep achieving and keep climbing mountains. After all, isn't
that the very essence of living?
Ascent
Summit views
Descent
360˚
panorama from Slackdhu summit
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