Top 10 Films so far..

So I have some time on my hands here in the rain drenched Braemar..

Top 10 films of my life thus far:

-          Koyaanisqatsi by Godfrey Reggio (a collection of life-affirming images set to a beautifully moving vocal score by Philip Glass)

-          Mulholland Drive by David Lynch (dark and fabulous)

-          Moonrise Kingdom by Wes Anderson (simple delicate innocent subtle beautiful un-adulterated  stylistically brilliant young love)

-          Dazed and Confused by Richard Linklater (growing up in the promised land)

-          Baraka by Ron Fricke (tribal journeying)

-          The Perks of being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky (unexpectedly brilliant, don’t judge a film by its title)

-          The Grand Budapest Hotel by Wes Anderson (Ralph Fiennes performance is un-nerving and stunning)

-          The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou by Wes Anderson (funny, funny, funny)

-          Kick-Ass by Mathew Vaughn (best superhero movie)

-          Brick by Rian Johnson (cool dark and defining of a generation)

Transition year

Hello to anyone who cares to read..

It seems this year has been like a transition. From a state of not knowing, toward a dream that only I could realise. I’ve tried my best to keep it going in the face of adversity, seeking out opportunities and playing on strengths and facing weaknesses head on. If you knew me 6 years ago I was a different person – bent on getting money in to pay the mortgage and never realising that life could be so much more, and to be shared with someone. Karen came along, born out of a shared passion for climbing. I really thought she was the one, I fell heavily for her and in the end paid the ultimate price.

It’s hard to convey how sick I felt when she rejected me, how isolated and alone it felt to have no-one after being so happy with her. I loved her so much, she was so much younger and yet more grown-up and mature than I will ever be. Simple pleasures massaging her feet while we watched TV or stroking her head while on holiday in Skye. Those where the good things, our trip to the Dolomites was the best holiday I have ever had with someone (even though we argued often).

I left my job and started with the ambulance service, and in doing the thing that Karen wanted I lost her the second my course started. I knew it would happen but I thought I could salvage the relationship. When in Kingussie she came to visit I couldn’t speak to her, I knew what was coming but couldn't talk to her, I felt numb. When I eventually left the service and pursued the Outdoor life of which I should have embraced years ago, she was gone. I met her in a carpark to give her a box of things and afterwards I soloed Warfarin at Dunkeld, so bent on aggression and full of reckless angst (it took the kind words of Jules Lines to calm me down).

Working in the shipyard on the ropes over the winter I gathered enough money and felt better physically. I also focused my spare time into doing my winter ML award which really helped to have something to aim for (during the windy winter). I spent the start of 2014 looking for avenues into an outdoor job, that’s when I found out that I love working with young people. I just seem to connect with them and feed off the energy and anticipation of week long activity courses. I love watching and interacting with young people’s ideas of the world and I appreciate their youthful naïve honesty. Working outside I tried to build up to doing my MIA training, knowing how this can change you as both climber and person.

Climbing trips to Pabbay, in the Alps and on the Ben directed my energies and felt like rewards for my loosing out on a summer last year. I love the freedom of climbing trips and not sticking to plans, spending chunks of time on the road in the fort and all over Scotland. Selling my car to finance my MIA training is the best single decision I made this year, not only earning some incredibly useful skills but meeting some fantastic individuals. Rachael is a shining light amongst a year of uncertainty, I love her blatant optimism and go for it energy.  She is beautiful and reminds me of the character Saleem (I know he's a boy, but is portrayed as Asexual) in Midnight’s Children, always with an eye to the future caught up in the whirlwind of the Lodge, yet with her calmness of being and stoic demeanour. I chased her but soon realised there was no place for me in her changing landscape.

And so, back to winter and from my rusting van into a nice modern-day bothy! Sitting here in Braemar I am a ski technician and part-time hill runner and climber. I like who I am and this transition I feel is almost complete. I’m thankful for the characters and experiences that have shaped me this year. Thank-you Matt for being the best climbing friend a guy could want, to Sarah and Berry for being there for licks when I needed you, thank-you Ross, Chris and Joe for some unexpected awesome summer days on rock, to Aline Edvin and Grant for the Cham express, to my sister for always being there for me, to Mum you know why, and to everyone else don’t give up on me, I know I can do it and I’m trying everyday to make it happen!

9th August - GR-11 Journal Entry

Pyrenees proper…

A sore head after Kevin dragged us into town for more Cayones + music! Packed up after another stormy night (luckily I had remembered to bring in the washing). Leaving Ochagavia, on pistas past a massive pile of collective town furniture and some BIG limestone crags, we wandered up and through endless forest (biting flies never materialised Lucia, but thanks for the warning). We wound up to a ridge path where we were greeted with our first glimpse of the Pyrenees proper – towering Limestone crags in great columns stood proud and orange against a battered sky, yes I thought, it begins…the ridge followed the edge of a tree-line up and over a col to the valley which housed Isaba.

Upon reaching Isaba we found the finest wee family run Panadaria in the region – hand made Pizza and cake to the sounds of Dylon, then coffee and soon some showers and slumber. The town is small but friendly (no replacement gas tho, supplies running low), but we found great lodgings in Hostal Lolo (rm 101!) Bought some nice fresh Pan to have with the Marmite I was lumbering around since Irun during tomorrow’s 1000m ascent up the W side of Pena Ezcaurri (2047m), which would be our highest point so far! I took a stroll just out of the village as the sun set and gazed up at the rock faces enclosing the neighbouring valley system. How big they seem compared to the hills of Scotland, even to the NF of the Ben, I wanted so much to get out climbing. I found it hard to contain my excitement and found a small boulder to climb on to try and unwind a bit. Back at the Hostal Tom had Jakified the room nicely!

8th August - GR-11 Journal entry

Sink holes…

Awoken in the night by annoying Seville couple who scratched and snored for what was left of the night on our shaky platform (Kevin had a bunk downstairs), they had left the door open and then re-lit the fire to smoke us out our beds! As dawn arrived I peeped out of the hole and saw a sunrise so spectacular it made up for lack of sleep! We set off SW as usual up-hill (Tom had to run back to the Refuge for his jacket he left swinging on a peg – everything now smelt of fire!) through mud up to our knees, toward the Abode ridge. The ridge itself was cloaked in a settled mist, although it was pegged with brilliant wee wooden markers up and across its length, past what were described in the guide as sink holes. Massive craters of sunken earth rimmed by sharp crags and dotted with bones and other fragments. A sharp right turn and descent took us to the Sanctuary, and chorizo stop, where a choir were practising for a baptism, and a man was knelt preying by his Honda car! We took the steep road down past alters into picturesque Ochtavia – purchased provisions + San Miguel from decent Granny shop and made our way past the 10th century chapel to the campsite at the edge of town (we were going to push on the 10km to the next Refugio to continue the theme, but we would have needed extra water and had already bought beer E1.25 a litre – we couldn’t resist that). Washing socks and pitching beneath trees we settled in to camping life once again. The routine of setting out my gear in the usual spots in the tent was like returning to a familiar room in a house, something I’ll always take away from this voyage. Tom dropped the bombshell that the solar cable was missing! After camp grub (I preferred to cook my own food as I wanted to save money) we met up with Kev and 2 x Basque guys and we all had a Canyones in the local bar and watched a strange village festival unfurl with a rock band and dancing!

7th August - GR-11 journal entry

A motorway where the path was….

7am start and wet as before we ascended toward the ornate village of Roncesvalles, on our way to Fabrica. Left turns and rights (took wrong turn and missed a few vital markers) then had coffee at ‘always closed’ bar (thanks Lucia)! The quint religious sprawl of Ronce moved quickly as we tried to locate the original path past the youth hostel (which was sadly no more). Some police cordon tape barred the way but we hopped over and through a wood to reach the motorway where the path used to be! Beyond this was our route to the collado de Leopoeder (1445m) following the Puerto de Ibaneta river to Fabrica, and higher still to pass by Urkulu. We moved quickly up a steep pista, Tom charging ahead like a fully charged Polish steam-engine, past the chapel and awkwardly we left the original GR-11 for a new improved version (these regional updates to the original way were to prove very confusing, often scrubbing out markings of the original GR route which made me feel a bit angry at the lack of respect for those that had gone this back in the day, this updating was the result of land disputes concerning grazing and tourism traffic). More faint markings on birch trunks – after chatting with an old gran recorido farmer we boldly set-out to cross a steep shoulder of hills on the fringes of the Irati forest. Down we went through slippery, muddy animal tracks in search of the painted tree until we had lost the way. After a tussle descent through prickly heath we found the old path (never did find that painted tree Lucia?) and a short-lived chorizo break in a scary wood, we continued our descent through more intense, oar-shaped forest – our shoes completely sodden, our legs scratched from massive over-grown thistles (I stepped on a foot sized slug also, woops) but relieved to be back on route, following markers, to the huge man-made lake below. A fine 8km stroll by its side on limey gravel took us to the next Refugio, a fine wee bothy with fire and a sleeping platform in the roof next to the river. After drying socks and insoles on the fire, and collecting water that had tadpoles in it for tea, in strolled English Kevin – a 50-something walker from Leeds who had waked also all the way from Irun behind us, in our shadows! We decided to help each other out on the next day’s section navigating through a tricky ridge line across the headland toward Irati, in true GR-11 spirit (the book had said thick fog would make finding the right ridge line difficult – we would see Lucia, mud was bad enough). After smoking out the hut we let the fire die out and sleep take us off. I unrolled and blew up my mat, its case now lying in tatters by my feet and positioned myself away from the obvious hole in the platform floor, although this made for a handy way to spy on any front door traffic through the night!

6th August - GR-11 journal entry

Electric scaryland…

At 9pm last night the clouds rolled together, the birds flew high and stopped chatting…then it hit us! The worst electrical storm I have ever endured on this Earth, let alone beneath nylon. Crack from above the amphitheatre of our once sheltered corrie, the land was gone and replaced by maelstrom, giant hail stones the size of ping-pong balls pelted us, I kept shouting for Tom, he spilt his dinner while tying his front porch down at speed. At 11pm silence fell and it seemed that the worst had moved on – zap and thunder shook me as the Earth vibrated once again, sitting fully clothed in my wet weather gear ready at any moment to make for one of the WW2 bunkers that littered the hillside below us. I poked my head out during a relatively calm-ish moment to assess the damage – made a quick dash to re-peg the sides of the Voyager, it had held well but we were both ‘well shook up’!
12pm came and a re-match in the skies, I feared for my walking pole stuck firm in the earth outside (not so bright as I recall the nightmare)! Crack, snap, zapp went the blasts every 10s or so – we were in the eye of it now. 2am and this passed again – Tom commented later how he had seen the clouds moving innocently together after dinner, and they met right above our heads! No Bivi for him that night. We awoke early and exchanged battle stories – I have never felt so isolated, but it made us more confident in both our gear and ourselves as survivors! GR-11 really throws the punches, but then you get the dawn and the sun-rise above perfectly diffused sky…
In the aftermath we made our way through thick fog (M I C K E Y Mouse…)and eventual sunshine to Burguete. Feeling good we pushed on into Day 5 territory and found refuge in a Navarrian walker’s refugio – 2 floors and loads of room all to ourselves! This made up for last night’s hell, well actually spaghetti and warm dry sleep did…until a Catalan couple entered dripping after the on/off rainfall, scared by the lurking bull outside to camp, we accommodated and they got the fire going. 10hrs of sleep in safety followed…

5th August - GR-11 Journal entry

A pipe too far...

We had slept in till 8am (I slept badly due to noise), today we leave town for the leafy woodlands and sloping ridge lines that make up most of Navarra, toward Puerto Urkiaga. After much re-packing and organising of kit, I decided to donate my wet weather salopettes (Gore-tex), my climbing shoes (rubber) and first-aid kit (mostly liquids) to a local hobo we met raking about the bins off the main square. I had to do something about the pack weight – finally it feels acceptable at around 17kg. A joyful day ensued through open grasslands and sunny (35deg again) open spaces filled with lush sunken tree cover and broken schist crags. After a shade stop beneath a wiry birch and some water a pack of wild horses appeared and Tom petted the youngest horse on the head (this was a special moment as they had always been spooked in previous encounters – these were truly friendly beasts). Passing through the col and parking area at Urkiaga, some 25km in, I heard Operatic voices coming from ahead. Some Spanish hikers enjoying a mid-week amble and exercising more than legs and arms! A broken pipe at the pre-des camp spot meant a 2km hike to the next possible location - a locked hunter’s cabin, and a pleasant camp site under a tree perched 2000m up against the shoulder of a rising corrie. A temperamental spout ensured dinner and next days drinking water was now sorted (water supplies had been diminishing since we left Irun, spending at least an hour each day re-hydrating and on the hunt for a quality source). Jose Gonzales beneath the tree, pasta + veg from a packet and another stunning panorama of Spanish rural quality ensued – I love this place!