Wild Moment: Rod Payne
"Unaccompanied but no longer alone, I turned and set off down into the darkness of the valley below..." This wild moment was 30 years ago – but lives with Rod today.
^ View from Sgùrr nan Coireachan
The Little Green Tent
It was just before eight in the evening when I reached the summit. The wind had gained in strength as I climbed and was gusting strongly from the northeast. I was grateful to huddle down in the meagre shelter of the cairn. Out to the west, where the clouds were beginning to break up, the sun turned the sea into bright bars of silver.
Further north the darkened summits of the Cuillins stood out against the brightness beyond. I remembered the attempt that my son Dave and I had made on the main ridge. We had started late from Glen Brittle, not reaching Sgùrr nan Eag until 11am, and spent all day picking our way through mist and cloud as far as Sgùrr na Banachdich. There we gave up, not downhearted, it had been a good day and there would always be another occasion.
I remembered so much.
I remembered a family picnic beside Grisedale Tarn and afterwards walking up to the summit of Helvellyn then down to Striding Edge. Dave, only five years old at the time, had come to an excited halt at the edge of a drop, transfixed by the panorama down to Red Tarn and across to Catstye Cam. It was his first mountain.
I remembered another family expedition, this time up Ben Hope, Dave and our dog ranging ahead. The boy, then 11, obeyed his instructions and kept within sight, stopping at every horizon and calling excitedly back down to urge the rest of the family upwards. It was his first Munro,
I remembered a spring bank holiday in the Lake District, his pleasure in his new birthday present, a little, green two-man tent, the same tent in which he lived, years later, during two expeditions to the Alps.
I remembered him taking up rock climbing when he was 16 and his explosive progress up through the grades. His carefree approach, everything a game. I remembered his return from his first climbs in the Alps, his youthful exuberance and pride in what he had achieved but behind it a mature and sober realisation of the scale of the risks involved.
I remembered, 12 months later, standing on the site of that little, green tent, forlorn and deserted in an Alpine meadow. Its owner's body still high up on the mountain.
I forced myself to my feet and headed onwards into the teeth of the wind. The ridge was more rugged than I had expected and I had to work at a series of small ascents. Gradually the headache engendered by the long hours in the train blew away and the months long rustiness in my muscles softened to a familiar ache.
It was after nine o’clock when I reached Sgùrr Thuilm. I looked northwards at the wave after wave of mountains ridged with snow that lay ahead of me, now all but lost in the dusk, and thought of the challenges that faced me in the days ahead. As I thought of the excitement and anticipation which Dave, had he been there, would have been expressing at this moment a feeling of comfort, closeness and warmth enveloped me.
I turned to look back out across the sea, at the view that had been hidden behind me as I walked. The approach of night had dimmed the sea's silvery brightness and the clouds were tinged with pinks and purples. Suddenly, startling myself, I spoke out aloud,
"We could have a good day tomorrow, Dave."
Then, unaccompanied but no longer alone, I turned and set off down into the darkness of the valley below, towards the little, green tent that awaited me.
