On Saturday I spent twelve hours wandering about the banks of the River Devon with my memories and the splendid back drop of the Ochils (quite a few of the summits Keith and I climbed on his visits to Kinross-shire) for company. I thought a hell of a lot about Keith, obviously some sad thoughts but mostly things that made me smile and occasionally laugh out loud! There are so memories, almost exclusively positive . Memories of laughter, shared sense of wonder, friendship, conversation, experiences and happiness. There are just so many, just at random I am probably one of the few that (has chosen to) recall Keith’s attempt at rock stardom as front man with Armitage Shanks (the name is a clue to how good they were). Crikey that was a sight to behold, think of a taller, bespectacled and thinner version of Micky Dolenz armed with a tambourine and idiot dancing to their prog rock doodling’s. Utterly priceless. Sitting in the public bar of the Crianlarich Hotel soaked to the skin, scoffing pizza and getting right royally drunk on Strongbow with Drambuie chasers. Being his best man. On a glorious Saturday afternoon bumping into him and Simon Budd at the Cambridge Folk Festival, resulting in an even more excellent weekend of sun, beer, great music and ever so slightly outrageous behaviour. Keith, and for that matter his brother Alan utter fearlessness as a kid. If there was a rope swing over a massive void there would be a Waddell at the end of it. Keith was a dab hand at North East Leeds own version of the downhill, sliding down the sheet ice of the hill of Lupton Field on his boots before taking the big jump where the slope flattened momentarily. His always passionate and consummate endorsement of science, Larry Niven, ELO, Ian McEwan, British Sea Power, social justice, malt whisky, bread …….. well actually any food at all, astro-physics, family, friends and particularly the mountains, crags and high places. Those memories of shared experiences in high places prompted me tonight on a whim to reach to the highest and dustiest bookshelf for a long forgotten guidebook “Rock climbs in Glen Nevis: The Polldubh Crags”. I can remember, long before he ever tied himself to a climbing rope how excited he was by the images in a book he had about climbing in north wales ………. I am pretty certain it was’ Rock Climbers in Action in Snowdonia’ by Smythe and Cleare. Given the chance with the scouts he threw himself to climbing a simple route somewhere in Langdale. It was only when we became students that real opportunities to climb emerged. Aidren Hitchcock and I led the way (Keith was initially too busy throwing himself into life as a medical student in Leicester) but in no time Keith was practicing belaying and protection skills in Roundhay Park, bouldering with us at Hetchell, Wetherby or the Chevin. It is fair to say in those early years Keith was happiest on the end of the rope and was rarely prepared to lead anything terribly difficult. Then in early September 1984 Keith, Aidren and I met up in Glen Nevis for a fortnight worth of climbing a few mountain routes on the Ben, walking, drinking and climbing at Poldubh. Late one afternoon we decided to climb a classic three pitch route called the Flying Dutchman at Poldubhh (old school Scottish mild severe). Aidren led the first pitch which was a bit of an easy scramble up a gully; Keith was next and then belayed me ……….. twenty foot of the deck I slipped pulling Keith of the ledge he was sitting. Thankfully all those skills we practised ensured nothing more serious than a bit of fright and a good giggle. I got the luck of the draw; a classic traverse under a big roof and round onto an open ridge. The final pitch was Keith’s lead ………. before we realised it he was way off route and climbing the variant finish following a narrow finger crack. Before our eyes, the fearless Waddell of his youth emerged and he cruised up the Very Severe 4c without a wobble. He was so proud of himself; he laughed and sang all that night My excitement at his achievement is recorded in that guidebook! [I apologise profusely in advance the use of the expression “go for it Keith baby” and the use of “cosmic” ……… the tragic exuberance of youth] He went on to become a very accomplished and skilful climber be it on Pennine rock, Highland snow/ice, in the Alps or the higher ranges of the world In my head these are the very experiences that drive climbers on to take the calculated risks that all climbing carries. Those are the experiences that those of us that climbed with Keith on the crags, moors and the high places of the world can treasure and understand. I can understand why non-climbers are baffled by that risk taking and have tried rather clumsily to explain the attraction. The best thing I can do is quote from an essay by Freya Stark ……….. The secret joy of peril comes from veiled presence, without which most savour goes; and this is no morbid feeling for the ecstasy belongs not to death in itself, but to life, suddenly enriched to know itself alive. So, after a summer dawn and climb to noon, amongst clefts and icy triangles or wind-scooped crannies, the mountaineer returning sets foot again on the short turf and flowers; and the breeze that cools him is the same breeze that sways the harebells; the blood that tramples in his ears and runs like chariots through his veins is the kind, swift temporary stuff by which smaller things of earth are fed; he is back in the community of his kind and descends light-footed, among the pastures; but he remembers how in the high silences he has known himself on the edge of Silence and how its wing has brushed him Despite his tragic loss it is a comfort to know that Keith understood and experienced ‘the edge of Silence and how its wing has brushed him’
Posted on: Wed, 13 Aug 2014 22:22:51 +0000
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