Ken McClure - Crisis

The idea filled him with enthusiasm; he consulted the local telephone directory for details of weather forecasting services for the areas he would pass through on his way north. Ten minutes later he had decided on tackling the Tarmachan Ridge, north of Loch Tay. He had been assured by the weather people that the region north of Loch Tay was to be cold and clear with blue skies and sunshine. Fine settled weather.

Bannerman called Hertz and, using his credit card, arranged for a Ford Sierra to be made available to him until further notice. He tried calling Morag Napier to let her know his plans but there was no answer. He would call her in the morning before he left.

Bannerman approached Loch Tay from the east and stopped in Lawers village to book himself into the Ben Lawers Hotel for the night. The weather was as good as had been promised, and he enjoyed coaxing the Ford along the narrow road that faithfully traced the north shore of Loch Tay until he swung north to park at the entrance to the old quarry road that crosses the estates of Tarmachan and Morenish. He reflected that it had been fifteen years since he had last come here. As far as he could see, nothing had changed.

The sun was warm on his face as he sat on the edge of the car boot to change his socks and pull on his boots. It was the kind of day that made you want to just put on a sweater and sprint off up into the mountains, but he knew better. In the Scottish hills you had to prepare for the worst. The weather here was among the most fickle in the world, a fact that had been the downfall of so many who had succumbed to the beauty of the mountains from the car park and ventured too far without thinking what would happen if the temperature fell like a stone and the wind screamed down from the north like a demented demon.

Bannerman checked his rucksack for everything he might need and some things he hoped he wouldn’t. Bandages, pain killers, torch, survival bag, spare clothing. He set off along the quarry track until the approach to the south ridge of Meall nan Tarmachan became less steep, then he climbed up strongly through the bracken to join it. He then headed north up the ridge, pausing occasionally to catch his breath and look back along the length of Loch Tay sparkling below in the sunshine. Ten years ago he might have climbed directly up on to the ridge at the north-east corner but now he was content to take a more leisurely line.

As he neared the end of the ridge where the ground fell away sharply, before the final steep ascent to the summit of Tarmachan, he paused again and took off his rucksack to sit down and chew a chocolate bar. Far below he could see that another car had parked behind his own, but there was no sign of its driver on the hill. The sun slid behind some clouds that had crept down from the north and Bannerman realized that he was getting cold. He had only been sitting still for a few minutes but the height he had gained in the last hour, and the fact that there was now a north-easterly wind to contend with, told him that the temperature was now below freezing.

He got to his feet and put on a Berghaus Goretex shell jacket and a pair of woollen mitts before removing his ice axe from its holster and swinging his pack on to his back and tightening the straps. He would soon be above the snow line and the axe would give him a feeling of security on the slippery slopes. It may not have been a technique for the purists, but sinking the axe into the ground and holding on to it at awkward moments was a psychological comfort and provided at least one hand-hold he could rely on.

The clouds above him were now thickening and their speed was increasing. This gave him a clue as to what to expect when he came out of the lee of the south face and crested the main ridge. As he did so, he had to drop to his knees to maintain balance when the full force of the wind hit him. Pride would not let him move on without first touching the summit cairn, but caution and common sense made him approach the final rise on his hands and knees. He touched the stones and looked briefly over the edge down to Loch Tay, now three thousand feet below. He had a brief impression of movement in the bracken below the crags to his left but concluded that it must have been a trick of the light which kept changing as successive banks of cloud crossed the sun with varying degrees of thickness.

Bannerman had a decision to make. The wind was much stronger than either he or the weather forecasters had anticipated, and he knew that the section of the ridge to the west of Meall Garbh, the next mountain on the ridge, was very narrow and exposed. Should he go on, or turn back and descend in the lee of Tarmachan. After some consideration he put off making the final decision until he had reached the second summit.

As he descended into the small hollow between the summits of Tarmachan and Garbh, to where the ground was interrupted by a series of small lochans and where he could be out of the wind for a few minutes, he made a plan. He would linger for a while in the shelter of the hollow and have something to eat and drink. This would give him time to get his breath back and also give the wind a chance to subside. It was always possible that it would fade away as suddenly as it had arisen.

Bannerman checked his watch and saw that forty minutes had passed. He decided that he should not delay any longer. In January the days were uncomfortably short. He looked at the sky to the north for signs of encouragement but found none. If anything the sky was darkening over Glen Lyon and there was a threatening purple tinge to it. Feeling instead that he had to expect the worst, he got out his waterproof over-trousers from the side pocket of his rucksack and undid the zips so that he could put them on over his boots. With legs and body well protected from the elements he pulled up his hood and secured the draw strings. He put his mitts on and started out on the short climb to the summit of Meall Garbh.

The wind, although still strong, was relatively constant in velocity and not gusting, which would have made it much more dangerous. This was a factor which decided him to go on across the ridge. He looked out from behind the cairn at the narrow stretch ahead. Although it was only fifty metres long at most there were steep drops on both sides and he could see the small town of Killin far below at the west end of the loch. The fact that the wind was coming from the north, making a fall on that side of the ridge unlikely, was reassuring. The north side was steeper than the south; a fall from there would almost certainly be fatal.

Bannerman turned away from the wind to make a final adjustment to his rucksack straps and hood fastenings before venturing out from the shelter of the cairn. He was surprised to see a figure coming up behind him. The tall figure of a man clad in dark waterproof clothing was about seventy metres below him and approaching the summit on the same path he had used himself. The fact that he was not alone on the hill gave Bannerman’s confidence a boost. Although he liked solitude in the mountains, it was sometimes nice to know that there were other people around.

With a final tug at his straps to ensure tightness he came out from behind the cairn and moved out on to the narrow ridge. He moved gingerly at first, in order to gauge the strength of the wind, and then he moved steadily along the ridge until he reached the one obstacle in his way — a rocky little step which he would have to negotiate before being able to proceed. As he reached it, the heavens above him opened up and icy rain was driven into the right side of his face. He put his hands down on the rock to steady himself, and wedged his right boot into a small crevice to seek stability as he prepared to swing his left leg over the obstruction.

The crevice was not as secure as he had imagined. The rain had made it slippery, and as he put all his weight on to his right foot his boot slipped out of the crack and he fell heavily, his body straddling the ridge and the sharp edge of the rock catching him in the stomach. Fear and pain mounted a synchronous assault on him as he frantically sought to secure hand holds on the rock, which was streaming with water. He quelled the sudden rush of panic in his head and steeled himself to do nothing until he could get his breath back and think more clearly.