A Short Scottish Holiday

Adrian D. Bridge

Having made the briefest of arrangements, Andy Wells, Ian Bridge and I arrived in Thurso on a Saturday afternoon during August 1996, in time to camp explore the town and get a fish supper. Next morning, drove to John O’ Groats, (which was surprisingly attractive), and then Dunnet Head, the most northerly point of the British mainland and which has magnificent vertical cliffs, before catching the noon ferry from Scrabster to Stromness on Orkney.

The two hour journey was most enjoyable, with fine views of Hoy and the Old Man, itself dwarfed by the 300+m high St. John’s Head just north of it.

A short drive to Houton, a ferry south to Lyness on Hoy and a bit more driving, brought us to Rackwick Bay, where we camped for a couple of nights. An evening stroll for a couple of miles over the cliff brought us to the stack we’d come to climb. The way down to the base of the Old Man of Hoy, whilst not too difficult, required reasonable balance on narrow zig-zag paths across steep grass on crumbly sandstone cliffs.

In the clear evening light, with a strong sea crashing against rocks, plentiful seals, gulls, cormorants, fuhners nad skuas, and just us three around, the place had a sort of elemental magic about it. Next morning, the weather wasn’t quite so good, but dry and windy. Andy and I prepared to climb, whilst Ian checked for a seal pup we’d found, seemingly trapped in some rocks the night before. (I hadn’t realised that they have such long claws under theft soft flippers, nor that they have so many sharp teeth). It was gone.

The first pitch wasn’t bad, the second, an overhanging crack at 5b, was not too pleasant, being damp, with rounded sandy holds and huge wooden wedges banged into the crack (perhaps left fiom the 1967 fuming). Third and fourth pitches were easier, but with very sparse gear, owing to the friable rock. The final pitch was probably the best, a vertical comer of good rock between two massive pillars that formed the top section of the Old Man. It was a bit disconcerting to be climbing up looking at the sea between one’s feet 400 ft below, looking through the gaps in the comer to the sea the other side and hoping that the pressure of bridging up would’t push the pillars apart!

On the top, the wind was blowing too strongly for it to feel safe to stand up. We wrote in the summit book and then abseiled down the top pitch before stopping to eat in relative calm. It had taken AlA hours to get up, and took nearly two to get down. Each ab was from a mass of indeteminate tat, threaded round the rock, knotted to old pitons and itself. Any one piece looked quite suspect, but we gambled that collectively they’d be OK – and they were. Nevertheless, I was glad to get down without incident.

Our next venture was to The Old Man of Stoer. We had only a vague location and a brief description of the route at Hard Severe. Having survived (just) a fierce midge attack , we set off from close to the lighthouse in thick fog, on a northerly bearing hoping to bit the cliff edge after a couple of miles where the Old Man stood.
 
Well, you know what it’s like trying to walk on a bearing over rough terrain, you never are quite where you hope to be – and we didn’t even know quite where that was! So after about three hours and a lot of, shall we call it ‘prospecting’, we found what could be a faint outline of a sea stack. Just to be sure, we dumped our bags and went north to find the end of the Point of Stoer which, half a mile away, was out of the fog below about 100 ft. This allowed us to be more sure that what we had found was the right stack. Back at it, the fog was begimiing to clear and we found a tentative ‘path’ down the two hundred plus feet of cliff. Roping up gave an illusion of safety to the descent.

Andy stripped off and swam across. I threw him an 11 mm rope and we fixed up a traverse line. Bit by fit, clothing, gear, Ian and I got across, diy shod and set about the climb. The photo accompanying the route description (in the guide we’d left in the car by mistake) showed men on the right side of the stack on the first pitch, by no means was this HS (later found to be 5c in another book). We traversed left and then up in four pitches at about VS, passed fulmer chicks who rose up on then nests, squawked and made puking motions. It seems as if the technique doesn’t develop too early, as only one managed to project liquid at me and I was able to twist so it missed me. fortunately, as on Hoy, the parents left us alone even though they were flying all around us.

Climbing and abseiling three on a rope takes some time: with the tyrolean to set, the route to find and not starting to climb until possibly two pm, it was quite late by the time we were ready to get back to the mainland. We had hazy schemes about abseiling on a slant on double ropes so that none of us would have to swim and spent too long trying to rig up such. At one point Andy, retreating from an unsuccessful foray, was unable to prevent himself being lowered into the water whilst fully dressed. We eventually settled for a simple reverse of the way across, and I swam.

As darkness had fallen, so the fog blanket returned. We stood on the mainland cliff top at 11 pm with a vague idea of walking south to the car. After an hour and a half of smmbring about in trackless peat bog terrain we covered the two miles (as the crow could have flown – perhaps) and got to the car. Midges were still a problem so we slept in the car. The midges were still a problem in the morning so we drove off straight away to Lochinver for breakfast.

Next stop Fort William, where we set off to look at – and hopefully climb -Centurion on Cam Dearg buttress above the CIC hut. When we got there it was dripping with water and slime so we settled for Ordinary Route 1 or some such nondescript way up the buttress. A walk over the top and round to Cam Mor followed before a descent to Fort William where another fish supper finished the day.

Next day brought rain, so we left Scotland. Passing the Lakes, the weather was beautiful, so we detoured into Langdale and walked up to Gimmer Crag. Both Andy and I had long had a desire to climb Kipling Groove, so we did. Yet again we stumbled off the hill in the dark, but not too late for a pint in the ODG. It rounded off a great week.