by Sally Hyder
‘What do you do with Daddy?’ I asked.
‘Skiing and bouldering and stuff,’ he said.
What a cool dad and what a great life!
That night, after a fish and chip supper we chattered about the day and Peter was great.
‘We’d just got complacent because the Boma was doing so well,’ he insisted. ‘If we really avoid each major obstacle then we will manage it – Mum, you will get to the top!’
Tired and sore, I retired to bed in the bunkhouse, but with Peter’s encouraging words ringing in my ears: I didn’t know what to do – should I make the attempt? I felt overwhelmed with gratitude that my family had all come up to support me. The next morning, we had a meeting with Alan.
‘What about doing a different Munro with an easier track?’ he suggested. ‘Otherwise, if they can beef up the Boma, we’ll be with you if you want to do the Ben.’
‘I’d rather try and fail the Ben than dumb down the challenge,’ I said, after a deep breath. After all, I had to be true to myself.
‘Let’s go for it!’ said Alan.
The family cheered: at that moment, I was so proud of my ruddy-faced lot for encouraging their mum to complete the task with Harmony. It made me feel enormously happy and confident. Andrew beamed at me. The real challenge would be the August climb: this would be our Everest.
‘You wouldn’t want it to be any easier, would you?’ said Andrew.
A few days later I received an email from Alan. Jacqui, the physiotherapist, had been talking to someone at the John Muir Trust (a charity that owns and manages lots of Scotland’s open spaces) about the challenge and she suggested going onto Ben Nevis via a different route, one the quad bikes had been using while upgrading the path. The route still had markers and they would leave them there until after I had completed the challenge. There was a minor problem of a river to cross and it was slightly further, but it met the track about halfway up and so reduced the enormous rocks by 50 per cent. It sounded better and it was unusual too.
Excellent, full steam ahead then!
Chapter 20
Finishing on a High
On 17 August 2010, I received some bad news: one of my main teams (consisting of eight) had pulled out. The couple that built this particular team had some terrible news: the woman’s mother had died unexpectedly, 17 weeks after her father passed away. Of course, it was devastating for them and I shared their sorrow; I was also upset to lose two key members from the team.
I phoned Giorgio, owner of Stobhan (the B&B that the team were booked into). He was fantastic and said not to worry. Afterwards, I emailed everyone to make sure I had their consent forms and menu choices. I still needed to do a schedule for the weekend.
By 23 August, one of my main concerns was that I hadn’t been on the Boma since the trial – Stuart had been too busy to get it back to me, fixed. There was a definite knack to managing the machine and I hoped I hadn’t forgotten how; also, we had never done a serious climb while training without the engine overheating and cutting out but at least we now knew that we had to give it time to rest and I couldn’t hold it back to go at a walking pace as that would compound the problem. I wasn’t scared of an accident but would my body hold up or go into a massive spasm? Already, I’d taken double the dosage of my anti-spasm drugs and had brought more with me. In the park, all my dog-walking friends wished me well for the mad venture. Without the Boma, I would need Andrew to take Harmony on extra runs to maintain her fitness levels.
In retrospect, perhaps I should have allowed someone else to do the admin for the event. I just felt so touched and excited that people were behind it and I didn’t want to add to their burden. Now I was having sleepless nights and wondering whether I’d covered everything.
By 25 August, the nerves really were settling in: I was so scared of failure. It wasn’t an option as far as I was concerned, but it might happen – I had to be realistic. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel if this proved to be the case; I’d just have to wait and see. Meanwhile, The Hour and STV News had been in touch, asking to cover the story. As always, it was a ‘maybe’ so once again, we would need to be patient. At the same time, a friend shared the Just Giving website with all his friends on Facebook and suddenly, my own Just Giving site took off all over again.
I couldn’t help but feel a bit sad at this point that I wouldn’t be able to raise all the money that I wanted to, but we had certainly raised the profile of Canine Partners. Also, I was really looking forward to seeing everyone at the weekend.
On 27 August, I was texted to say that someone with MS but ambulant (someone walking, not using a wheelchair or aids) had just failed to reach the summit. I really could have done without knowing that. I spent an hour coordinating the food for Saturday – the level of organisation was really driving me crazy by then; I was glad to hand it all over to Andrew and just hoped he would understand my cryptic notes.
At this point I hadn’t heard back from STV News or The Hour and so I assumed it wasn’t going to happen. Onwards and upwards.
With butterflies in my stomach, we set off at 9am on Saturday, 28 August. Mandy, a friend from London, accompanied us there. The bunkhouses, owned by Alan our mountain guide, were just perfect: more like flatlets than shared dorms, they are so comfortable. Even their name – ‘Calluna’, which is Latin for the mountain heather that grows everywhere – is pretty. All but one family had arrived. Alan briefed everyone: yes, it might be August but there’s still a foul weather warning with the possibility of snow.
Meatballs, pasta and wine all round were followed by birthday cake for Elaine (one of the trainers). We finally threw everyone out at 9pm so that we could get to bed. Even so, I couldn’t sleep: I was so scared of failure. The mountaintop looked incredibly high and while I’d been to the top before, I’d never done so in a wheelchair. (Note to self: next time you have a good idea, take a tot of whisky and lie down – then keep it to yourself!) However, there was a happy end to the day for Melissa climbed her own Ben Nevis: she went up Blackford Hill in Edinburgh – a pretty big climb for someone like her. She walked up it with Ali (who had come to look after her while I was on my big adventure) and Megan, one of her school friends. She was so proud to have got there – and I was a proud mum!
Talking of proud mums, my own had arrived the day before and was soon ensconced in her room. We arrived to find her happily dispensing mugs of tea all round. Dad had stayed home – no way would his knees allow for Ben Nevis. I chatted happily with Chris, who had arrived with the Boma. It meant a lot to me that Mum was there; my in-laws, Rob and Delia, also came along to provide invaluable moral and practical support. They served meatballs and pasta to 40 people and for me, their presence was a huge boost.
Finally, Ben Nevis Day: 29 August. Overnight there had been strong winds and torrential rain but the morning looked clear and beautiful, with blue skies and no wind. We were off in the car to join the other members of Team A for a 7am start.
Stepping out of the bunkhouse door, I notice Tibetan prayer flags fluttering in the breeze: it’s a beautiful moment of symmetry with Everest all those years ago and fills me with hope. Even the muted blues and oranges and the Tibetan writing are the same; they look as if they’ve been here forever. I ask Alan where they came from: he tells me that he brought them back from a trip to Nepal. I send up a prayer of my own. In the Old Testament, Nehemiah finds himself in a very tricky situation and sends up ‘a prayer like an arrow’ (straight to God). I too like ‘arrow prayers’ and this was one such moment.
Keep everyone safe, please and help me get up there.
It’s difficult to move: I am wrapped in so many layers of equipment that I’m unable to bend in the middle (not that bending is my forte these days!). At the same time, I’m so warm that I have everything vented and unzipped as much as possible – I get grumpy when I’m too hot.
At the car park, we meet the guides from West Coast Mountain Guides and the rest of Team A – that’s Jacqui, Alan and Nick plus all the trainers f
rom Canine Partners: Vicky, Elaine, Claire, Anna, Ann, Gemma, Laura, Ronnie and Gemma’s boyfriend, Matt. Then there’s Peter, his girlfriend and their friend Amy, Andrew and Jon, the engineer for the Boma. Jon’s backpack looks huge – he says he has enough kit in there to rebuild the Boma and it certainly appears heavy. Clare and Andy are there, too: they are media students working on their Masters portfolio who will be doing the filming and photography. We also managed to find volunteers to carry the batteries: there are 10 extra batteries and each one weighs 6.5kg (14lb 5oz).
One has already gone up with Team B; Peter and the girls take two. Mandy has one, Andrew has another and Jon adds one to his full rucksack. I hand Harmony over to Ann.
Where are you going?
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell Harmony. ‘I’m right here!’
Ronnie is looking after their dog, Erin. Other dogs include Enya, an enormous shy creature of mixed parentage, Pig, a Staffie (whose low body means not a lot of clearance for the rocks on Ben Nevis) and Doyle, my old friend from Canine Partners. All the dogs feast on banana and porridge for energy (breakfast for Olympians) and are put on leads to preserve their power; also out of respect for any livestock we might come across.
‘Morning, team!’
‘All set?’
‘Here we go!’
Encouraged by happy banter as we set off, I’m nevertheless anxious about the Boma’s ability to cope: will my body stay upright for that length of time? I keep my anxieties to myself.
The track is relatively easy: it’s the quad bike track. I let my guard down and start to enjoy myself. I mean, I might as well, right? After all, that’s what it’s all about. I’m reminded of hill walking as a little girl and feel the pit of dread I had in the car recede as I give in to the rhythm, taking one step at a time; I can hear my breath. Already I feel a sense of achievement, knowing that it’s a Forestry Commission trail heading to the North Face (the very dangerous face mountaineers climb). I feel cool being part of a gang, doing a real climb.
At first we go through the woods. The plan is to circle round and meet the main path at the halfway point. Once again, a passing mountaineer sees the Boma and comes over to check it out.
‘Cool! Awesome kit – I could do with one of those.’
I love the fact that they don’t see me or my disability just the kit.
Up we go! The Boma’s in fine fettle and I find myself leaving everyone behind as I motor up the track. Every now and again I have to stop at a particularly steep part. Andrew walks as close to me as he can; there’s no room for anyone next to me: people are walking in twos. Harmony doesn’t like being apart and takes every opportunity to check up on me, give me a lick and tell me off.
Oh no, not another stop!
The engine has overheated and when this happens the Boma shuts down so I have to bang on the brake and wait it out. But it’s not a problem: we were prepared for such an eventuality and know how to resolve it: just sit and wait for the Boma to cool down.
‘You keep going,’ I tell the trainers and Mum.
Andrew and Jon stay with me, as does Jacqui. I’ll soon catch the others up. Harmony is with Ann and my poor dog has no idea what I’m doing or why she’s on the lead when we’re in the middle of woods.
‘It’s OK, Harmony, go with Ann!’ I tell her. ‘I will catch up soon.’
Ann gets her part of the way up but then Harmony decides to hold a sitting protest. She sits down and clenches her muscles, refusing to go another inch until I’m on the move again.
While I wait, I look up: above in a narrow gap between the trees, I can see blue sky.
The sky’s the limit, Sally!
The scent of pine fills my lungs as I watch Harmony sniff in the direction of wild deer and rodents lurking somewhere in the woods. The engine starts and off we go again. Now the climb gets steeper but it’s manageable and I still feel warm in my padding. The path ends and gosh, it’s a car park!
‘What, do you mean we could have started from here?’
Oh well, so that was just the warm-up, the dry run and here comes the real climb. I’m feeling bullish. We cross the car park.
‘Come on, no hanging around, let’s go!’ I order the troops.
‘Hang on, Sally! We’re just checking the river is low enough for you to get across,’ says Alan.
Beyond the car park the path declines steeply to a river. We can hear gurgling water and feel the cool, damp air.
‘I brought planks up here yesterday,’ Alan tells me. ‘To help you with your entry.’
The river is roughly twenty feet wide with fast, rushing water. Ferns curl towards the water’s edge, flanked by tiny pebble beaches. One by one, the team walks across a very thin pole, clutching a hand-height wire fence. Peter guides everyone across, taking rucksacks and generally lending encouragement. At this point, I realise I’m missing Clara dreadfully – she has had to stay behind to attend a scout training camp.
I make my way down Alan’s planks, enter the river and aim for the landing point on the other side. Engine in full throttle, I drive upstream, landing safely to applause from the other side. That was so much fun splashing through the water! The dogs need to be encouraged to the other side. With wagging tails, they make it after having had a good drink en route.
‘Now here’s that bit of bog I told you about,’ says Alan.
Bit? All I can see is purple: the heather and myrtle bog go on forever. No track. Squinting, we can just make out the old quad bike tracks. Alan decides the best way to cross is to go alongside the track. We set off with everyone sprinting alongside me, parting the heather to make way for the Boma. Harmony has disappeared into the undergrowth, head down, as she follows the multitude of smells.
But then the engine cuts out once. Twice. Three times. Every time I hear it splutter, my heart misses a beat, my stomach lurches. I will the Boma not to give up and offer up a silent prayer.
Come on, girl – you can do it!
‘This bog is really straining her,’ says Jon, the saintly engineer with the heavy rucksack of parts on his back.
He makes the executive decision to switch off the Boma: the engine needs to cool down. We have to stop for a bit. Each time the engine overheats it takes a good 10 minutes to cool off enough to let it go again.
While we wait, the team admire the scenery. At this height we’ve got a bird’s-eye view of the rivers and lochs threading their way across the green valley like silver on an emerald brooch. Already I’m silently celebrating the fact that I’m actually higher than I’ve been in a long time.
‘It looks like the battery has gone,’ says Jon, looking up from the front of the Boma.
‘Do you know something, Jon?’ I reply. ‘I’m beginning to hate batteries!’
He laughs. Laughter soon fades to sighs of irritation as two replacement batteries are fitted; each time Jon tries the engine only to discover they won’t start. Both have run out.
Not good! We’re going through them so fast that at this rate I won’t … But I refuse to allow myself to finish that thought.
‘I carried it all this way and it’s **** empty!’ Peter curses.
‘How many fresh batteries does Team B have with them?’ I ask.
‘Only one,’ says Jon. ‘This is odd – one is empty and the other is full.’
So, we’re down to four batteries. Jon replaces the duds with two of the last remaining four. The engine starts and the Boma carries me up and down through the heather.
‘Look,’ suddenly Ann calls a halt. Far below and across the loch is the tallest, brightest rainbow I’ve ever seen. God’s promise, I will never leave you, springs to mind. I allow myself to believe anything is possible. The Boma is struggling so much that, in order to preserve battery power, it’s decided ropes will be attached to it. Jon, Alan and Andrew tie them to cleats, which were put onto the Boma for exactly this reason. I steer as I’m pushed and pulled and the engines rev. Everyone now jogs with me, running to get on ahead and then relaying to push me: I fee
l like a Victorian explorer carried by Sherpas. Everyone is helping, wielding heavy loads and looking exhausted; they are all slipping and sliding, trying to keep themselves and me upright.
Too late! Suddenly the Boma tips and out I fall like a sack of potatoes. I’m not hurt – the bog and heather make for a soft landing – however, I am stuck. Someone’s hand reaches in and undoes the safety strap; people are pulling me out. Harmony barks and runs between people’s legs. All I can see are walking boots.
‘Stop,’ I call out. ‘My leg!’
My leg is caught in the Boma and won’t bend. Eventually I’m extricated and I start to laugh. I look over at the camera team: ‘Please tell me you got that on film.’
But they shake their heads: they were too busy trying to rescue me. Ah well, it would have made great telly. Aren’t all comedies tragedies in disguise?
‘Well, don’t ask for a Take Two!’ I tell them.
Finally I’m back in the Boma, waterproofs and clothing rearranged, legs intact. Harmony is now calm and in front of us, we see the main path.
‘Afternoon!’
It’s Team B.
‘Fresh blood!’ goes up the cry from an exhausted Team A.
Alan tells everyone to take a good break. Besides, it’s time for lunch – we’ve been climbing for a good four hours. We need, we deserve a break. Everyone flops down in the heather and digs out their sandwiches and flasks. Team B consists of Debbie and Jane (friends of mine), Mark and Fiona (friends of Andrew), Harmony’s puppy parent Lesley and her daughter plus another puppy parent, Alison. Finally, there’s a dad and his two sons aged 12 and 15 – kind volunteers who have been walking up the main route and set off at 9am. Good timing: as planned, we’ve all met at the halfway Lochen. Team B’s guides, Jamie and Richard, have done a fantastic job as has everyone else.
Peter has carried so many people’s rucksacks – he hasn’t stopped pulling or pushing all day, while making sure everyone has been OK. I couldn’t have asked for a better mountain guide.
