5 Sep 2007 - Aonach Eagach Ridge- From behind the line

This is a ridge walk with a reputation, engendered by lurid descriptions in climbing books or possibly memories of Muriel Gray with her hair standing on end and shrieking at the very mention of it’s name. (OK, I know her hair was always like that!). But respect for the walk is justified. It’s for the experts in winter or bad weather, and an exhilarating scramble at the best of times.

As the back-marker on the trip on Sunday 26^th August I had the privilege of viewing our team, and the opportunity of photographing them, from the rear – colourful blobs jerkily moving up a craggy tower of rock – to disappear over the top and emerge into view at the foot of the next jagged pinnacle. Artistic composition wasn’t much better closer to the action. Intense concentration is difficult to capture in a bum wedged in a chimney, or from the top of a head which even the promise of celebrity can’t prise more than two inches from the rockface. Two or three of my efforts escaped deletion however, and I’m hoping one might even have passed Tom’s critical selection process for the club magazine, Packchat.

For several of the party, which included three guests from Edinburgh HF, it was their first “crossing” and it was approached with some reservation. As the serious stuff was contemplated at the top of Am Bodach a few grey clouds gathered and the air became decidedly chilly.

Teaming people up into small groups our leader, Sheryl, prepared everyone with the correct mindset, and headed off to the initial and decidedly awkward downclimb. Rock was gripped with white knuckled fingers! Willie cursed! (so what’s new?). Sheryl supervised her 22 charges down then set out along the route, assisting and encouraging, pointing out holds and suggesting techniques. Sheryl’s an ideal lady to have on a tricky walk such as the Aonach Eagach, as she is often tastefully adorned by jingly stuff about her person ... and I’m assured can climb up the sheerest of rock faces with a typical antipodean nonchalance.

Confidence grew. The sky became bluer. Layers were discarded, and six and a half hours later we all made it back down to where cars were left – about 1¾ miles from the Clachaig Inn. I had elected to do some ferrying back and forth and, as everyone’s thoughts turned towards a seat and a cool drink, elation was evident in the girlish laughter and unladylike language (no, not Willie this time!). I was beginning to suspect delirium though when a small group opted to walk back, but sanity eventually prevailed!

The pleasure of a day on the hills and perhaps the satisfaction from something a bit more ambitious can probably be summed up by Aileen on the way back south through Glen Coe as dusk was falling. Before dozing off, she looked up at the crisp silhouette against the darkening blue and dreamily murmured "I did that!"