Sunday, April 28th, 1996

I woke up early with Bill sticking his head in the door telling me to wake up. I got up and dressed for the day knowing it may be cold on the hill. I went down to breakfast, ate, and prepared my stuff for the climb. Bill and I left around 8:00 am I guess and headed off to pick up Alistair Wingate. He was staying with a friend in town. Alistair, actually from Paisley, now lives with his wife in Croydon near London. We picked up Alistair and headed off immediately stopping briefly to get gas (petrol), some bars and Iron Bru. Alistair sat in front and I in the back with some of the climbing gear, the rest was in the trunk.

The drive up through the hills was very pleasant and we were lucky to have very good weather. The sun was shining and only a few clouds roamed the sky. The road north took us past Loch Lomond which was very beautiful. The road I remember was very narrow, narrower than the one they now have, and quite winding and humpy. The road we were now on was considerably wider and much smoother and straighter. Bill said that they had been reworking it recently. As we slowly wound our way up north the land became more sparsely populated, less vegetated and considerably more hilly. We arrived at a very large expanse of land called the Rannoch Moor. From here we had our first view of the Buachaille. It was quite impressive. It rises quite sharply out of the Rannoch Moor. We passed the Kings House Hotel on the right still looking the same as I remember it. Last time I was there I was probably 8 years old. I remember dad had taken me climbing in Glen Coe and in the evening we drove down from the climbing hut in a snow storm to the hotel. That was in the old Morris Minor car dad had. That trip always stuck in my mind. We stopped a couple of times so that I could take some pictures of the hill. As we drove closer it loomed larger and larger. Soon we reached the climbing hut but it did not look like there was anybody else there. Bill and Alistair recognized Bob Sprunt in the parking area and chatted briefly with him. They told him that we were just going to drive down the road a little ways to the "Coe" (Glen Coe) so that I could see it. The place is quite foreboding and breath-taking. Bill pointed out the "Three Sisters" mountains and named them. We turned back and parked in a boggy bit near Bob's car. We got out and began to change into our climbing gear which took only a few minutes. We walked down the short path to the climbing hut. It essentially looked like a small cottage. Standing next to the hut was Ian Mcleod and a lady who he introduced as his sister. Barbara, Ian's wife and close friend of dad's joined us shortly. She looked pretty much as I remembered her except her hair was shorter. Ian told us that he and his sister were going up the back way which was essentially a very steep path which did not require any climbing activity. Barbara had decided not to come up the hill. Bill explained to Ian that we were going up Curved Ridge and would meet them on top. So they headed off to the car and we started off on the path up the hill. There were other groups climbing that day too and all of them were my age or younger. Most of these people passed us on the path which led up to the face of the mountain. This path was a long sloping affair which took about 1/4 the height of the hill.

We made our first stop once we got to the base of the main face. We had a bite to eat and a drink of whatever we had brought with us. All the way up the four of us, especially Bob, partook in good hearted humour at each other's expense. In my part it was mostly to relieve some of the tension or nervousness I was feeling as I looked up at what we were climbing. We stopped at various stages on the way up, pausing to catch the view and our breath. On one such stop we met another climber, probably in his late 20's or early 30's he was reclining on the ledge propped up on one elbow. He wore a white helmet, blue anorak, dark pants, and boots. He had a beard and wore glasses. He appeared amused at our appearance. It had not taken me long to notice that our appearance was quite at odds with what every one else on the hill was wearing. He asked for a closer look at one of the ice axes we were carrying. He smiled as he picked it up and humorously commented on its "antique" appearance. He handed back the axe and we headed up the hill again. We reached one of the last points below the summit in a sort of crevice on what was the short side of a tower. The tower was a part of the mountain that is separate from the main hill by about 15 feet. It is a favourite climb for rock climbers. There were four doing the climb as we made our way up. We met them at the short side of the tower. We headed up again for the last bit left. By this time the view was spectacular and the weather still remained warm and dry with only the hint of a breeze blowing. We reached the summit 3:30 p.m. We took pictures of each other to prove we had made it and sat down to wait for the others we were expecting. We found a spot out of the breeze and ate our lunch. The view on the top was quite impressive, I could see for miles and miles. Looking one way I could see Ben Nevis which was covered in snow. Apparently, according to Bill, Ben Nevis was dad's favourite mountain. Another striking aspect of being on top of the hill is the silence that accosts you. Apart from the sound of the wind going past your ears, which disappears if you turn your head, it is amazingly silent. I began to really understand why dad liked climbing and why the one we were on was a particular favourite of his.

We waited an hour for the others but still no sign of them. During this time I placed a small laminated picture of dad I brought along on a small cairn, took a picture of it and placed a rock over it. Bob headed towards the path where they were expecting the others to come up to see if he could spot them on the way up. He returned shortly to say he saw no sign of them. We decided that as the weather might turn and as it was heading towards late afternoon we thought we should go ahead with the scattering.

With mixed emotions I took the black plastic container that held the ashes out of the knapsack. I popped open the lid and saw for the first time the remains of my dad. They were in a clear plastic bag closed with a twist tie and a metal tag with the cremation number on it. The ashes looked like small discoloured pieces of chalk, mostly white, some beige and others brown. I took the bag out of the box and took the twist tie and metal tag off. I carried the ashes to the edge of the summit and the others followed behind me. I paused for a bit before saying, "We have come to the end of a long journey.." with that I tossed the ashes into the air in the direction of King's House Hotel. The lighter particles were carried off into the wind and the rest settled down across the hill. Some remained in the bag and I shook them onto the ground. The others said, softly, "Good-bye, Jim." and turned and walked away. I waited for a moment feeling uncertain what to do. I folded up the plastic bag and placed it in my pocket. We then headed back and packed up our stuff. Bill phoned his daughter, Suzanne, with her cellular phone that he borrowed to let her know that we had scattered the ashes and we were on our way down. We took one last look around and headed down the hill. The route we took was down the back, an easier route than the one we took up. The path was very clearly marked out with the occasional cairn to mark various points on the path so that if the weather was bad, as it frequently is, one could find their way down the hill. The winding path took us to a small ridge from which ran a gully all the way down to the hut which we could see far below. The top 300 feet of the gully was covered in very loose marble-like snow and since it was quite steep we decided to rope ourselves and belay each other down the hill. A couple of young climbers passed us and cautiously but quickly headed down the slope.

It took some time for all four of us to get clear of the snow. From there the greater part of the hill was like a gravel slope and thus very slippery. We skidded our way down the slope. The journey down was tiring and quite jarring but we finally made it to the car where, exhausted, we changed back into our regular clothes. We agreed to meet at King's House Hotel for a pint or something. We drove down the hill and met Bob outside. We went into the cocktail lounge instead of the "climbers" lounge as two signs directed us one way or the other. I had a beer as did Bob whilst Alistair and Bill had a whisky. We stood opposite each other and toasted dad. "To Jim." they said with raised glasses then sat down at a small table. From there on the conversation moved to the current aspect of each other's lives. Bob left after about 20 minutes as he had a long way to go home. We followed shortly behind.

On the way down the hill at various points Bill tried to phone Suzanne on the cellular to tell her that his original estimated time of arrival was off the mark a fair bit. The drive into Glasgow was a quiet one. I guess we all had things on our minds. We arrived home and unpacked the car. When we got inside Mom, Gerda and Suzanne were all there with supper prepared. Alistair had brought two bottles of wine, white and red. Shortly before we ate supper Ian and Barbara showed up and chatted for a bit. Ian told us that they had been up the hill and waited for us for a while but had to leave.

The meal was lasagna made by Suzanne which was quite appreciated after the long day on the hill. After dinner and several drinks I said goodnight to everyone and flopped into bed quite tired from the day's climb.