A sad death in the hills, and a decision to turn back from danger

It's been a very traumatic weekend. On Friday afternoon I learned the shocking news that a good hillwalking and climbing friend was missing, and later on that her body had been found at the bottom of a hill.

Alison was a very experienced hillwalker who had climbed all of the 283 Munros (mountains over 3000 feet high) in Scotland, some of them several times. It's terrible not knowing why she got into difficulties near a hill that was only 418m high (1371 feet) and which she climbed at least once a week, as it was her local hill.

Alison on the hills she loved and knew like the back of her hand.

Probably the atrocious weather that day had a lot to do with it, with deep snow and biting easterly winds, even at ground level.

The rescue services received the emergency alert at 3pm on the Thursday, so it seems likely that some kind of accident had befallen Alison. It wasn't until the following afternoon that they found her body.

This video on the Facebook page of the Ochills Mountain Rescue Team shows the horrendous weather conditions at 11.15pm, as they were searching for her.

I and most of my friends learned about this tragedy on Friday afternoon. I was too distressed to go to my usual indoor bouldering session on Friday evening, and even on Saturday night I woke up a couple of times with thoughts of what might have happened to Alison going round and round in my head. It was difficult to get back to sleep.

Daytrip to Glencoe

I felt a lot better on Sunday, and travelled to Glencoe with two friends to climb the Pap of Glencoe, a very distinctive and very popular mountain known for the great views from the summit.

But we weren't getting any views on Sunday. The weather was murky with intermittent snow flurries – though there wasn't nearly as much snow as had fallen further south.

Glencoe is breathtakingly dramatic, even in murky weather.

I'd heard that the Pap of Glencoe was a steep, rough climb – but I like steep rough climbs, and I wanted to recce it before I put it on as an event with my hillwalking Meetup group. Although at 745m high it's well short of the height required to make Munro status, I had a feeling that it would be more difficult to climb than many Munros, and I wanted to make sure I'd be able to tell my group members exactly what kind of walk they would be in for!

The distinctive Pap of Glencoe. Source

My two friends were much slower than usual, and when we were about halfway up the mountain I could see that their hearts were not in the walk. One of them was nervous about the steepness, and the other one, I suspect, was still very upset about the loss of his good friend Alison, and hadn't slept very well the night before.

I was also upset about Alison (I still am) but people react in different ways to grief, and even though I'd had a very disturbed sleep the night before, I felt in desperate need of exercise. I felt a bit like a dog wanting to get off the leash!

Views over Loch Leven.

When we were at the foot of the summit cone, about 200m from the top, my friend who was nervous about the steepness said, "Would you be very angry if we don't go to the top?"

"No, not at all!" I said. I felt quite relieved. I just wanted to get on with it and reach the summit.

The rocky summit cone.

I did take my time though, as the summit cone is very steep and absolutely covered in big boulders. There were quite a few patches of ice, but many bits that had no ice at all, so I had to test each foothold carefully, positioning my crampons, before stepping up. The wind was very strong, but it was pushing me onto the mountain, so I felt very safe and secure, as long as I took it slowly and carefully.

Just before the top, the terrain was completely covered in snow and ice, with deep footprints that were easy to step into – except that by now the wind was so strong, I had to walk on all fours to steady myself, digging my ice axe into the snow.

As I got closer to the summit, the wind got even stronger, so that each time I moved I felt as if I was being slightly lifted off the ground. The summit of the Pap of Glencoe is very small and unprotected – there is simply nothing there to hold onto when it's all covered in snow.

I decided not to risk going there. At an altitude of 740m, with just five meters to go, I turned back.

This is where I turned back, just five meters from the summit.

It wasn't worth risking my life for.

I am really looking forward to climbing that mountain again in summer, in better conditions, and this time getting to the top.

Alison's tragic death has not put me off hillwalking. Far from it – I think it's important to live life to the fullest, as you never know what might be round the corner. Alison certainly knew how to live life to the fullest.

But living life to the fullest does not mean taking unnecessary risks, and Alison was someone who always took a lot of care and preparation. Something clearly went horribly wrong. I would like to know more about why she called the emergency services. There might be some learnings from that.

We might have to wait until post mortems are done and reports carried out. Or we might never know.