Glencoe Mountain Rescue Weekend

                               Mountain Rescue stuff isn't Plain Sailing

Ok, the weekend was meant to be easy.

However, for anyone who knows us, they know we seem to attract 'weird situations' like fleas tae a dug.....

First task was to visit the bank in St Andrews to collect one of those large presentation cheques to hand over for the cash raised from the sales of Blazes calendar.
Second task, head to Glencoe on the Friday, and get settled into the bothy.
Third task, present the cheque.

Straightforward, yes......... NO!!

As is wont for us, few things go according to plan.....

Since mid week, our truck has taken up residence on the ramps of the garage next door having failed miserably in the MOT test...(not enough studying I reckon).  However, understanding our predicament, the nice garage people told us we could have the use of a spare van.  Easy..... the white one in the car park with the keys in the ignition.   What could possibly go wrong???

Here is a test.....

A white van with keys in it (garage owned)

A white van with keys in it (NOT garage owned)

You can see where this is leading can't you???

Anyways, we headed up the coast for a beach Tweet-up with some of Blaze the collies chums and had a jolly good time as well.

Of course, when doing beach frollickings, the phone was left behind in the van, thereby allowing us to miss the persistent ringing, informing us we now had the lead role in Grand Theft Auto...

I must admit though, it was a lovely van, and credit to the owner, extremely pristine inside....or it was until a wet and happy dog carrying copious quantities of beach sand in his coat made himself at home in the front seats...

On the plus side, the nice people at the bank, as promised had the big cheque ready for us to collect. As luck would have it, we did manage to park right at the bank door, which in St Andrews on a busy afternoon is nigh near impossible.  One would think it was 'planned'....

At this point, another, more scary thought was taking shape in my head.....

Consider this... I am now in possession of a technically 'stolen van' with plenty of 'booty room', in the rear, parked outside a busy bank........

Another factor suddenly emerged that threatened my liberty..  The realisation that I was 10 days into growing the 'winter beard'.       Now, whilst this unshaven look is carried of with great aplomb by the David Beckhams and Brad Pitts of this world, it gives me the appearance of someone who is at the lower end of the drug baron food chain and has been given 24 hours to pay up the owed money, or I'll be fed to the fishes....

As I entered the bank, I could visualise the staff with their fingers hovering over the panic buttons akin to the film scene from Gunfight at the OK Corral.

So, with trepidation, cheque in hand, we headed home, barely seeing the road as the eyes are firmly fixed on the rear view mirrors awaiting the pursuit of Plod with lights-a-flashing and sirens-a-wailing...

No harm done, and the 'stolen' vehicle was duly returned to the rather irate owner, who oddly enough had absolutely no sense of humour...  Merry Xmas mate, and peace and goodwill to all men....

It was with a sigh of relief I got to bed that night without the prospect of a hard cot in an iron barred cell and a 22 stone prisoner called Bert whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

Friday.....

Started well.  Got all the weekends gear into the van,....  unstolen version,.... and did a last check of e-mails prior to setting off up North to Glencoe.

At this point, seeing a last minute demand for Blazes calendars, we realised that not only had we achieved the £1,000, but had indeed went £50 over that. 

A cold finger of dread swept my brow, as, when I thought it would indeed be impossible to reach that giddy amount, I had promised, foolishly as it transpires, that I would pose in the hills wearing nowt but a kilt and a stupid grin..... That  promise had now reared its ugly head and was a grim reality now.  A promise made is a promise kept sadly....

Kilt added to climbing gear.

Whilst the van we now had was legal, it also became apparent that the fuel filter was clogged, and removal of the filter cap proved to be impossible, therefore we set off with a van that had 40% power, but with careful and tender driving would indeed get us the 120 miles to Glencoe.

Firstly of course, we needed fuel.  easy eh???   NO, yet again.

Of course, we parked up to the pump with the fuel filler cap on the wrong side, so a quick zip around the garage, and the van parked perfectly next to the diesel hose.   Then followed a 10 minute search for the catch to open the fuel filler cap, much to the annoyance of the ever expanding queue that was forming behind us.   

There was no other option but to call the garage for opening instructions.  At this moment, the previously unseen forecourt attendant, with ninja like stealth appears, screaming that verily, I could set off explosions like the world has never witnessed since the Somme, due to my irresponsible phone usage...

Transpires it was a simple easy procedure....not...... You must exit the van, lock the van, unlock the van, twice, and this is the magic combination of events that allow the fuel cap to open.......

Therefore, suitably fuelled up, we crawled northwards, only stopping to pick up mountain survival essentials, such as beer.

Upon arrival at the Hobbit house at the Glencoe ski centre, the closest thing to disaster was awaiting us.  Not the prediction of torrential rain and sleet, not the arrival of 80 mph winds, but the fact that the Kingshouse hotel bar was shut.....

Luckily, having procured the survival rations earlier, we managed to brave it through the evening, and slept soundly until next morning.

The only drama that happened that evening was when I was dropping off to sleep, stroking Blaze and realised he had a 'growth' just under his chin.  I fumbled and fumbled...groped, stroked and felt for a good while....until one of the girls informed me that Blazes head was at the 'other end'    Can I get arrested for 'dog fiddling'???

Getting settled for the night.

Next morning, we traveled the mile and a half to the bothy where we were to reside that night, where everything would be just fine and civilised.... Yeah, right...

No water...

Therefore, first task was to wade down to the stream to fill buckets to do our loo flushing with, and get the kettle filled.    

The rest of the gang then arrived, and the days plans were laid out.

What was to happen, is the 4 guys would do the Devils Staircase walk to Kinlochleven, which in the quickly worsening weather conditions, was going to be a great feat of courage and, I may add, a touch of lunacy thrown in for good measure.

Meanwhile, me, Blaze and the girls would carry out 'the promise' of the photo-shoot.  I wish I had went on the walk instead.

We waved off the band of hardly explorers, then the remiander of us huddled around the log fire getting as warm as possible for the intended camera session.  By now, the wind was whipping around the bothy at 60mph with gust of 80mph and horizontal sleet.

We settled upon posing on the bridge that spans the river Etive, as the girls with the cameras could be afforded a small degree of shelter, whilst Blaze and I 'did our thing'.

So, with gritted teeth, we all headed out into the storm.  The girls got into a suitable position to film the madness, which was going to prove difficult due to the rain beating onto the cameras, so the only option was to use a mobile phone that according to the manufacture was reasonably waterproof.

So, after a count to 3....then another...then another... I finally whipped off the waterproofs and made a mad dash onto the bridge.....

Now, the photo doesn't really show the true weather conditions.... but take my word for it...it was feckin' wild...

Blaze popped his head in for all of 2 seconds before running off to join the girls in the leeward side of the building, as he is surely a damn sight smarter than I am....

What happens next???

Well a car draws up next to the bridge.....

Let's look at things from their viewpoint.

They have just driven through the most despicable weather conditions to arrive at their intended destination, only to be confronted with the sight of a semi-naked man, sitting on the parapet of a bridge over a storm swollen river, in torrential sleet and gale force winds.......

It's really hard to communicate to them, given the circumstances, that indeed I was neither mad (debatable), nor suicidal (getting that way though)....

They very quickly slammed the car into gear, and zoomed off, likely enquiring to each other all the way up the road, if I was possibly only a moment of collective madness in a vision...

As it transpires, that evening at the Clachaig Inn, I was warily approached, with suitable caution I must add, by the very same couple, and was able to explain the circumstances in which they had encountered me.

Upon arrival at the Inn, we got ripped into the beers and wine, and awaited the arrival of Linda and Bryan from Glencoe Mountain Rescue, and duly presented the cheque.

Then food was ordered...and more ale of course, and Blaze, being the centre of attention, was placed at the head of the table and spoiled rotten..

Then the band got started, the most excellent White Rose.

It was just a fantastic night, and the crowd of wet, damp hillwalkers and copious, well behaved dogs roaming the premises made it one to remember.  Lots of singing and dancing and waggy tails.. Just brilliant.

We all then headed back to the bothy, a 12 mile taxi jaunt in still horrendous conditions, stoked up the log fire, and commenced liquid consumption duties where we had left off at the pub.

Guitars were produced, whisky by the gallon, beers and wines of every description flowed.  By 4 in the morning though, by necessity, we all traipsed through to the sleeping platforms for a well deserved, peaceful sleep....     Oh Yeah????

One of the group, whom I shall not dare name, snores.  This is not snuffly-wuffly snoring, not grunty snoring..This is full on 'rocket blasting off' stuff...

Therefore, in the name of retaining sanity, I grabbed my sleeping bag, stomped through into the front room and laid out as best as I could on a wooden bench which turned out was harder than Vinny Jones.....

Surely at least now, I would get some sleep?   Well yes....and no......

After 45 minutes of slumber, one of the girls needed the loo. 

We did hear her stumbling through the dark room, fumbling for the light switch.  Now, we all know what a light switch feels like, don't we children??

What it does NOT feel like, is the little red box, with the "break glass in event of fire" written on it.

That was it... everyone was now wide awake....except for the snorer and one in the group, who as profession would have it.....is a feckin fireman.  Hope he's not on duty the night our house is in need of extinguishing.

We are now home.  

We are now showered. 

I had a poo in a flushing loo.  

A hot shower taken.

A wonderful weekend, and thanks to all of those, be you on Twitter, Facebook or just in the pub who bought Blazes calendar.

God bless, and have youself a peaceful Xmas and a drunken, riotous and Happy New Year.

Steve and Blaze xxxxxxx