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My
Other Thousand Yard Stare (Big
Al, Sept 2003)
The term ‘Thousand Yard Stare’ is one I’ve come across several times in a few different contexts. For me personally it has two very different connotations; Firstly it describes very well the despair and subsequent depression I suffered after the loss of a friend in a climbing accident and the emotions of the first time I returned to the scene. And secondly it much more light-heartedly conjures up the determination required to compleat ones Munros….as described previously in my articles on this site.
I write this as I approach the 5th Anniversary of the death of my good friend Grant Scotland in a climbing accident. It is something of a catharsis for me as I have bottled up the feelings and emotions of that desperate and traumatic day for too long…
Hand me a bottle to drink away my sorrow,
Cause I don’t want to go back there tomorrow,
But I will, oh I will,
Tho dread does my heart fill.
I go there every day,
Tho God knows I try not to in every way.
For sometimes life is hard to bear
At the end of my Thousand Yard Stare!
[ by Gary Jacobson, Vietnam War poet]
Grant and I were work colleagues as well as friends, near neighbours, training partners and drinking buddies. He was a keen mountain biker and weight trainer, and developed an interest in climbing through me and we went regularly to the Ibrox climbing wall for a couple of years. We had had a couple of days out on the crag doing Agag’s Groove and had been up to the Etive Slabs the previous year to do Spartan Slab. Both of these trips had been wonderful days and Grant had thoroughly enjoyed them, he wasn’t a naturally gifted climber but was fit, strong, incredibly determined and great company.
Grant on Agags, 1997 (Click to enlarge)
We had been out for our usual Friday night pint after work and had arranged to go climbing on the Sunday of that holiday weekend. We didn’t have any concrete plans of where to climb, we would just decide on the day depending on the weather. On the morning of that fateful day in September 1998, I left home at around 8am with a rack of Guidebooks…. Southern Highlands, Glencoe & Glen Etive, Central Outcrops, still undecided where to go.
We drove north in my car, up the Lomond road where it was dampish so I decided that the Cobbler wasn’t really an option. Further up towards the ‘Coe it brightened up and as I didn’t fancy another visit to the bolted routes by Aberfeldy I decided on the Etive Slabs again.
We got down to the road end by about 10.30 and there were only a couple of cars. This was good as I knew how busy this place could get, especially on holiday weekends. We packed our sacks and headed up to the crag. I had a notion to do either Hammer or Swastika, depending on who else was up at the crag and which route was free. When we got to the Coffinstone, the traditional gearing-up place, there were some parties on Hammer, The Pause and Spartan….so Swastika it was then. Decision made.
I had done Swastika before, many years before, on a GUMC trip back in the early ‘80s and I was keen to see if I could free the top pitch. Big Grant was just keen as usual. He was happy to second me on all the pitches. He hadn’t led anything up to that point. It was only his third outdoor rock climb and I wanted him to see what went on with the runner placements, ropework, belays etc. Showing him the ropes is one way to put it.
Things went very well, I remember the exhilaration on Grant’s face as he teetered along the ‘Moustache’ pitch. It was superb climbing right up to the wee steep step on the wall below the final headwall….it was sopping wet. I had to use aid to get up that and Grant a hard time following it. It was the same story on the final pitch….lots of aid had to used and I set up belay on a couple of small trees in a bay at the top of the crag.
Grant struggled up the pitch and joined me on the belay. He was totally elated at having done the route, by far his hardest to date, and we stopped a while to admire the views and take in the surroundings. All that was left to do was a short scramble up some heathery terraces to the descent path at the top. Grant had all the gear on his harness and said he would just go up the top, as it looked pretty easy. I gave him the nod.
I said “OK Grant. Up you go”. It was that single moments decision, more than all the others that I had made that day, that was to prove to be the most devastating of my whole life.
I can’t get it out of my head. I made the decision.
I gave him the nod. I said OK Grant. Up you go.
Grant set off up the heather clad terraces, a rising rightward traverse up to the path, the rope snaking behind him. He ran out about 50-60 feet. It was easy ground. No bother. There was a wee rocky step, no more than a few feet. I can picture it to this day. Grant shouted down that it was a bit wet. I craned my neck to get a better view, just as Grant’s foot slipped and he seemed to slither down a couple feet….he stopped for a second then seemed to overbalance backwards….he did that almost comical kind of swimming motion with his arms but his momentum took him back. There wasn’t a sound. He tumbled over…and over again. The rope seemed to snake towards me…..oh f o r f-u-c-k s-a-k-e G R A N T ……..NO……… NO…………NO!
In a split second the enjoyment of the moment with my big buddy on the crag was shattered with gut-wrenching intensity. The almost idyllic beauty of the place and the sense of accomplishment were exploded in an immediate paroxysm of dread. The world caved in. An enormously powerful force pulled me with a massive jerk as Grant’s weight came on to the rope. How the hell the belay held I will never know. I was pulled all over the shop and Grant’s weight was hampering me from getting into a
position to see what had happened. All the while I was screaming Grant’s name, over and over, completely panic-stricken. After a few moments, I somehow managed to tie off the load-bearing rope and hand-over-hand down a few feet to the edge of the crag. What I saw below was to hammer home the sickening enormity of what had happened. It was a sight that shall remain etched into my mind forever, and I knew in my heart that Grant was dead….and yet just a few minutes beforehand we were on top of the world. I just couldn’t understand it.
I wept uncontrollably, trying to come to terms with this horrific event. I remember thinking of what the hell I was going to say to Grant’s wife Donna? What DO you say? I kept screaming Grant’s name…..willing him to come back…..willing this nightmare to finish. The other climbers on the crag had seen and heard what was going on and had alerted the rescue. I really have got absolutely no idea of time scale at this point. One of the other climbers lowered himself down to my
position to help out in any way.
I remember the rescue helicopter hovering overhead, the powerful blast from the rotors buffeting me. I remember the rescue guy (I think it was Davy Gunn) lowering down to my position, and the look on his face when he went down to Grant. I remember being shepherded down the descent path by the two climbers who came over to help (and if you ever read this I am indebted to you). I remember the way the rescue guys lowered Grant’s body down the crag. I remember having to identify Grant’s body in the helicopter. And I remember being alone and having to drive home when everyone else had gone. I remember going to see Grant’s wife later that night.
A very difficult year followed, with my feelings of guilt dragging me into an abyss of despair and depression. I blamed myself for Grant’s death that day. Having made all the decisions that led up to it. But, ultimately it was Grant’s own decision to be there with me and to set out from that last belay. And I do finally, almost, accept that.
On the First Anniversary of the accident I went back up to Glen Etive and placed a small plaque in memory of the Big Man, and I’d like to thank some special friends in the Rannoch for helping me with that. On the Second Anniversary I went back and up to the crag. I sat on the oh-so-aptly named Coffinstone and just thought things through. I’ve been back to Glen Etive on the Anniversary every year since. Somehow it just helps.
The whole episode brings home to me just how good climbing can be…and just how bad climbing can be….but we still do it because we love it. I thought long and hard about packing it all in, but in the end I just couldn’t.
Big Al
18th September 2003
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