Galloway, Scotland.
26 – 29 July 1988
On 26 July 1988 eight
MMC members (including FOUR ex-chairmen) met in the bar of the Imperial Hotel,
Castle Douglas, Kirkcudbrightshire. They came from places as far apart as
Montego Bay and Maidenhead but they had two things in common — umpteen
overnights on Mulanje and a love of the wilderness. Scotland's got plenty of
that, and rain too. In fact western Scotland's the wettest place in the British
Isles. Probably the world as well! And July the wettest month. But Mulanje
types are optimists from way back and so, on the first day we were able to
climb our first peak — Cairnsmore of Fleet (2,331ft/710m) — in dry
if wintry conditions, with black clouds gathering all around. We should have
realised what we were in for, our only company all day the occasional sheep and
buzzard, other sensible mortals having already fled for shelter.
We still didn't wake
up to it when the following morning we were the only people at Glen Trool at
the start of the Merrick track. Twenty minutes after we set off it started,
even before we reached the bothy at the end of the first bog. Despite
visibility down to about 20 yards, Mason was not to be put off and reassured us
with map, compass and the previous week's recce, And thus on to the first
exposed ridge. The rain came at us like stair rods — straight down,
steely, and cold. Then sideways. Those of you who remember Ian Mason will know
that he never ventured on Mulanje without his famous brolly. Well, he's still
got it and at times he had to use it like the blade of a D6 bulldozer. We
lesser mortals were not so well equipped with the latest outdoor gear and
suffered as a result. Mike Pardoe's knickerbockers were soon saturated but at
least his knees kept warm. Not so Beldon's which turned blue (Beldon's given up
skinny-dipping since leaving Malawi), Brian Sayers also wore his Mulanje shorts
and on the peak of the Merrick (2,764ft/843m, the highest point in southern
Scotland), we thought he'd had it when with both knees and teeth frozen
together, we couldn't get a peep out of him. He was only partially revived with
a mouthful of Petzold's schnapps.
Our next objective was
Carsphairn, some 10 miles, several lakes and two rock-strewn escarpments away.
Obviously we couldn't see it and with visibility still about 20 yards, we
decided that it would be dangerous to do anything but retrace our steps.
Fortunately we had taken a back-bearing as the direction whence we came had
vanished into the clouds. Just to keep ourselves honest and maintain the old
credibility (and the tradition, of course), we took in the minor peak —
Benyellary (2,360ft/719m) — on the way down — to make it three. It
was still raining when we sloshed into the bothy at the start of the last bog
(none too soon for Beldon who lost the heels of both boots) and recovered with
a meal of fine mountain fare — Scottish oatmeal biscuits, Wensleydale cheese,
Melton Mowbray pork pies washed down with a couple of cans of best bitter
(Mason had three) followed by Mars bars and Kendal mint cake. Mike
"Mad" Petzold
This article was
originally written for and published in the MMC newsletter
©
WDYFO, 1988