Wild Moment: Raymond Chadwick
Golden memories of a week spent camping at Glen Coe
A gift freely given
All of 50 years ago, I spent a week camping in Glen Coe (in fact it might be the anniversary in August this year). The weather was clear and warm for most of the week, and I remember a succession of long, hot days: walking from glen to ridge and feeling in awe of the delight and the indifference of mountain architecture.
A number of images are still clear in my mind: reaching Stob Dearg on Buachaille Etive Mor and the far views extending out over Rannoch; the arcing ridge of Bidean nam Bian - a full nine hours with a descent from An t-Sron and a thirst that could not be slaked; and a day of pure magic on Aonach Eagach - still and clear, following the crest of each of the pinnacles in turn - and later walking back the length of the Glen deeply content.
But the day that really stands out in my mind was overcast and wet. Determined not to lose any of my short time in this place, I set out up the north-eastern slopes of Beinn Fhada in steady drizzle. I was soon drenched. Going up the flank was slippery and laborious and the visibility became progressively worse as I went up into thicker cloud.
More than once I questioned what I was doing, what possible point there could be in going further. The toil and frustration seemed unending, with no view against which to chart any progress. I can’t say why I carried on, except that the only alternative would have been to go down.
Without warning, I was at the crest of the ridge. Abruptly I stepped up into another world that was light, dry and clear, with an awareness of space restored in sunlight. At my feet the upper margin of the cloud lapped and swirled. Looking out to the north and then round the horizon lay an ocean of white, encircling island peaks and reaching far into the distance. I’ve no idea how long I stood taking this in.
At some point I must have walked on along the ridge. I remember later looking down on to a col, and seeing cloud boil up from one side - a graphic display of meteorology in action, as one weather system met another. But after that I recall very little, not even the route that I took to return down. What remains is that moment of entering another world: a gift freely given.