A HERO'S HERO

In the first of his fortnightly columns top Scottish climber Dave Cuthbertson remembers a time when he looked to others for inspiration.

So there I was, gripped out of my mind on one of those charming little Cobbler classics - Chimney Arete, with nothing but a big loop of slack rope between me and the ground!

McInnes's "Scottish Climbs", alpine grading system suggested that V Diff was about the right grade but I was clearly having an off day.

Then a punter on the path shows up, "What's that you're on?" he shouted up. Was it so obvious I was having such a hard time? He slung his sack on the ground and shuffled around a pocket on the top of his rucksack to brandish a copy of JR Houstan's guide to the Arrochar area.

I stood there, more intrigued to hear what he was going to say next rather than push on. He flicked through the pages and finally stopped. "Oh ho", he quipped, lifting his head and nodding knowingly, "it's Severe...aye...and it's a Cunningham route".

At that point he shouldered his sack and continued his way, boulder hopping down the track. "A Cunningham route", he chuckled to himself. "Aye...you've got to watch the Cunningham routes".

I watched that baldy little man bob up and down, nearly all the way to the Narnain Boulders, before I finally plucked up the courage to finish the climb!

That experience reminded me of an occasion on Cairngorm when Murray and I were standing at the foot of Shelterstone wondering what to do next, when there was a sickening THUD from high on the crag.

It was Frank and Alan, two mates from Edinburgh. Frank had just lobbed from The Needle Crack so we rushed up to investigate.

Frank had clearly hurt his back so together with a couple of Aberdonians, who claimed they knew what they were doing, we winched him to the top!! I jogged over to the Cairngorm car park and alerted the rescue.

It seemed like an eternity, but Murray assured me afterwards that the chopper arrived very quickly. The police then asked if I would make my way to "The Lodge".

At the reception a tall, lean bearded character ushered me in. I recognised him from photographs; it was Rusty Baillie the famous Rhodesian climber. I hardly had a foot in the door and he was already half way up "the crack for thin fingers".

"Brilliant pitch isn't it", he said excitedly, one leg in the air, fingers splayed like a mad pianist and all these big, white teeth grimacing through his copper beard. Rusty eventually came back down to planet earth and I followed him through the student lounge.

Punters who had been booked on courses took pity and offered cups of tea. "Are you okay sonny, would you like to sit down sonny, have a bit of cake". I felt so embarrassed. I desperately wanted to explain that it wasn't Murray or I who were involved in the accident.

The contrasting environment was beginning to feel strange. Only a few hours ago I left Frank, a bit cut up for sure but he was in good spirits. He was as strong as an ox, a public schoolboy and played rugby and all that. I knew he'd be okay.

Rusty took me into an office where a small, but fit looking wiry character sat, clutching the latest weather forecast. He looked to be in his early to mid forties and was wearing a pair of blue suede Robbins boots, denims, cotton polo and an infamous Lodge pullover, the one with a pale blue and red stripe across the chest.

With a wry smile, and an accent that I deduced to be Glaswegian, he asked where I was from. "Edinburgh", I replied. Knowing full well, he asked what route I had done.

I paused. The Needle seemed like a breeze so I skipped it and said that we were about to start The Steeple when the accident occurred. His eyebrows lifted and that wry smile widened to reveal a gold-plated tooth. "Did you enjoy the route?" he asked. "Aye, great".

I detected a competitive edge in his character, and then he asked if I had climbed in the Coe. As a competitive young upstart, and keen to let the world know how great I was, I needed no coaxing and promptly reeled off a list of routes as long as my arm.

Trapeze, Scansor, Carnivore, Shibboleth, Gallows Route. "I found Gallows Desperate", that seemed to bring a smile to his face. The competitive tit for tat continued, "Bluebell Grooves, now there's a hard route".

I found it curious why he should mention Bluebell and was quick to let him know that Murray and I did the 4th ascent. "You know it's free now", he replied. I knew it wasn't, Ian Nicholson had done it with a point of aid on each pitch, and Ed Grindley and Alan Austin, had done similarly on the 3rd ascent.

But I knew our ascent with one point of aid was the best to date. I sensed he was impressed but his competitive edge disguised it well. He asked my name and remarked, "Aye, you're some boys", and turned to continue with his duties.

Back in the corridor outside reception, hung a picture of all the staff, and I then realised I'd been talking to John Cunningham. I had done so many of his routes and all were memorable.

That would be the last time I met Cunningham. Shortly afterwards he went south before his tragic and untimely death in an incident at Gogarth. He was a great inspiration.

Anyway, when Scotland On Line asked if I would like to write a column, I thought what have I got to offer? Well I'd like to think that perhaps just some of my climbs have been enjoyed by others, and if I can offer even a pinch of inspiration, then it's all been worthwhile.

Cubby

1/12/2000

In the next column, Cubby touches on an old British favourite, the thorny subject of ethics.