Questions from myself, directed at Cooper: “Have you got any waterproofs I could borrow? and Reckon I’ll need crampons?” This gives a sense of my level of professionalism at the time.
Questions from myself, directed at Cooper: “Have you got any waterproofs I could borrow? and Reckon I’ll need crampons?” This gives a sense of my level of professionalism at the time.
I’d roll up to the bus stop with my bag of cashew nuts at 5am, awaiting for Cooper to arrive with a map and compass. We’d chat shite for the majority of the bus journey, approximately three hours, basically taking the piss out of everyone we knew.
Cooper’d say ‘we get off here’, I followed step. Fuck knows where I would have got off on my own.
Confidently, Cooper would direct us to the start of our route. I’d be able to see him trailing ahead, he’d stop for a snack allowing me to catch up. As soon as I caught up, he’d be ready to push on, so I’d use one precious minute to catch my breath and continue on with him.
This continued for months. We’d hit up Glencoe or the Trossachs once a week in the summer. At the time we worked in the same place, and any day off we had together, we’d arrange a trip.
As soon as I caught up, he’d be ready to push on, so I’d use one precious minute to catch my breath and continue on with him.
We arranged a trip to Glencoe in the middle of winter, full white out conditions, total contrast to what we were used to. This time we arrived with our two Polish companions, Mateusz Sleczka and Michal Serafin. From this trip on, we essentially created our own mountaineering group, heading out once a week, regardless of the weather.
We’ve turned back on several occasions when the weather has got too severe. Despite making the seven hour journey to get up there, sometimes making the decision to turn back is the correct one. Having respect for the outdoors is crucial to success. What these mountains lack in altitude, they make up in character, with many challenging aspects.
We have faced gale force winds, snow storms, complete white outs, walking on knife edge arêtes, scrambling with major drops. However we’ve also experienced complete sunshine with an alpine feeling, climbing above the clouds, catching sunrises and sunsets in the mountains.
We have faced gale force winds, snow storms, complete white outs, walking on knife edge arêtes, scrambling with major drops.
After months of winter trips, making sense of a map and compass became natural for me. We could see how far we had come, acquired the appropriate equipment and gained the knowledge and skills in order to be safe out in the mountains. I’ve taken invaluable knowledge from these trips and the people involved within them. I now have the confidence to head out on solo climbs and take routes I would never have dared.
Shite things that happened over these trips:
- Smashing my camera lens
- Losing my ice axe 24 hours after purchasing it
- Sleeping in a hostel full of men who feel it’s sound to fart at any given chance
- Sleeping in a small car with three guys and one decides to fart. So unsound.
- Making a shite decision to go out the night before a trip and bailing on it, to find out that the route they went on was insane, while I was in my bed feeling sorry for myself.
Sound things that happened:
- Learning heaps about photography
- Gaining a sound friendship with some really good people
- See my own country at its best
- Leaving Ben Nevis as our last climb of the season (until we were prepared and confident enough). Perfect conditions at the highest point in the country at 4409 feet. We were gutted Mateusz missed out on this one.
As a photographer, I started off shooting portraits, however I never got a sense of realism from them.
Finally, I realise the point of photography – it’s the intention behind the shot, the person behind the camera and the effort that they have put in to capture something they truly regard as special.
Story and images by Richard Gaston
Receive a postcard from us sign up
