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STORMY WEATHER - WILL WE WON'T WE GO

On Saturday morning I listened to the hill forecast. It sounded great for the east, but poor for the islands – how would Skye fare?

An hour before I was going to leave the phone rang. It was Steve. Apparently Tom's car was packed to the gunnels with Steve, Liz and two big dogs still to get in. Releuctantly I agreed that Graeme and I would drive down to Dalwhinnie to meet them and share out the load. The consolation was the beautiful weather showing a surprising amount of snow still after a recent late fall.

As we approached Skye the weather became cloudy and then wet. We arrived much later than I had meant, to find everyone wanting to get into the bar. Little repacking was done, and few arrangements made. I had hoped to check all the map units, which John had prepared, in the afternoon. Instead I needed to do it now just when numerous other things needed doing. Then the team were in the pub ordering dinner.

The weather was pretty awful with light rain but a strong wind, definitely marginal conditions for the Cuillin ridge. Still there was not much we could do until Alun appeared fairly late on. He had dreadful tales to tell of the conditions he had had for three days. He had managed to do the trickiest part of the ridge twice placing cairns at strategic points. He had had to retreat through the violence of the weather both times and didn't believe he could have got over the Mhadaidh pinnacles if the wind had become violent half an hour earlier than it had.

Mark was all for going at a snail's pace if necessary. Alun was clearly unhappy about it, so I called a meeting after first ringing the mountain-line weather forecast. This promised no improvement tomorrow but was definitely not offering a good day on Monday either. At the meeting it was agreed we would not go on the ridge in this weather. We would make a decision at 6.00. If we didn't go then we would give it until 8 before moving to the mainland and starting on leg 2, hoping to pick Skye up on the way back north, or failing that, after Ben Hope.

I went to find the rope placing climbers to tell them they would not be needed as we could not ask them to go up in such weather.

Graeme writes:

With all the relay runners crammed together in the caravanette for a meeting of sorts I can't honestly say that I remembered them very well from our previous short encounter. Only Ifor and Mark really, Ifor because he was simply so long and Mark because of his creamy smooth sun tanned looks. As for the other strange bodies present I hadn't the foggiest idea how they fitted into the picture which just seemed to make the whole thing bewildering. On the one hand some anxious worried looking discussion was taking place and on the other some couldn't care less, clowning around. I wasn't at all that sure what was happening but people kept saying that I bet I was not involved in the first few legs so I kept clear of all these initial disputes.

Lying in the van that night I was aware that the wind had dropped. I got up for a pee in the dark and could clearly see the ridge. At four o' clock the weather was good, so I woke up Alun and Craig to see if they were prepared to start soon. I then spent an hour wandering round the campsite calling quietly to try to find Steve and Tony. I thought I had located their car – Welsh registration with a geology book in the front – and asked the others if I should unzip the tent. They felt it was now only an hour off the six o' clock decision time so I left it. Just as well as the car belonged to total strangers.

Shortly before 6.00 Steve and Tony Walne appeared and Tony was setting off to set up Steve's first rope. A seven o' clock start time was decided upon, but apart from one rope on Sgurr nan Gillean there would be no more. The first changeover was therefore moved forward to the beginning of the difficulties on the low part of the ridge so that Craig and Alun could do them with their greater climbing abilities. Colin was to go in the van down Glen Brittle and set off up Sgurr Dearg with a rope so that Craig would have one to abseil off the Inaccessible Pinnacle with.

Neil Horne from the RNIB arrived with his camera just in case we started. The press had been cancelled the previous night as the start had seemed so unlikely. We walked up the road and counted down the seconds to Steve's start, baton, (a telescopic white stick,) in hand.

Shortly after Steve left I asked Tom why Bruce, his perfectly obedient massive dog should need to be on a lead. Tom released it and it was off. Tom called, then shouted, then screemed, and finally set off in hot pursuit of Steve and the dog.

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