The worst Sunday I've ever had.

As I indicated below, I spent the weekend in Scotland mountaineering with a friend. We traveled up Saturday and found some accommodation, deciding that we would go out in Glen Coe the following day. We'd been to Scotland many times, but only to Glen Coe once before the previous year, it's a beautiful place and the snow looked good once you got to about 600m.

So Sunday morning, at about 9am, we set off on the slow walk in. There is an easy and established walk in along a well marked path. The weather was cold and windy, but nothing serious, and the route was pretty busy with other walkers and climbers. We engaged in the usual level of inane mountain banter, and got what can be the dullest part of the day over pretty quickly. At about 10am we hit the snow line, and immediately our spirits were raised - the snow and ice is what we had come for. When covered in snow the mountains of Scotland are a truly breathtaking sight. The day was clear and you could see right down into the valley. We carried on through the snow, along the path, finally reaching Coire Nan Lochan.

In the Corie the ground levels off somewhat, and there is a buttress in front of you, with many well known gullies and climbs up it. We were there to look at Broad Gully, a basic Grade 1 winter climb (far left gully in the picture above), that we had been up before the previous year. We watched as another group of climbers started up the gully, and then move onto the rock to start a different route. Feeling good to be in the Coire, we ate some food, had some tea, fitted helmets and crampons, and made our way through deeper snow to the start of the gully.

Once there we had a look at the snow pack and did a Rutschblock Test, the results of which suggested that the snow was well bonded. So we started up the gully. We moved quickly and soon got near the top. It's hard to say how far up this is from the corie, but the picture below (that I got from the internet) gives you an idea of how far it is to the corie below. I would say we were about 20m higher than where this picture was taken from.

As we neared the top I placed my axe in the snow in front of me (I was in front of Tom). As I did this the snow made a strange sound. As I write this now I can still feel the fear and worry that this sound gave me. Immediately we discussed placing a rock anchor on some rocks near by, once we agreed this we both took one or two steps to the right and the whole snow pack around us cracked and groaned. Again, writing this now I can still remember the utter panic and fear this induced. The worst thing about the start of an avalanche is the realisation of what is happening. The entire snow pack started moving, slowly at first. During those first few moments I had time to comprehend the gravity of the situation I was in. And I'll tell you - there was no heroics and no peaceful feeling, just a pathetic whimper of fear.

Soon after the snow started to move I was sucked underneath. Snow filled up my mouth, my nose, my ears, and my eyes. We'd both been on safety courses and seen avalanche lectures and knew what we were supposed to do. But the force is impossible to explain, there was nothing I could do except flail and try to get my head out. After being rolled over and thrown around my head did come up again. And all I saw was the gully narrowing and the avalanche getting faster. Again I went under the snow. This time though I was very aware of the fact that it was likely that I'd be buried in it. I had time to understand the true horror of that thought. The only emotion I felt was utter devastation that this would be how I was to die. Near the bottom of the gully there are rocks which I began to hit into, luckily my helmet protected my head from any damage, and eventually hitting one of the rocks sent me to the top of the snow pack again. This time it was over, and I had survived. I got my wits about me pretty quickly. I knew that I'd been lucky, but that it was unlikely that we'd both have been lucky.

However, when I looked below me I could see Tom. Motionless on some rocks. As I made my way down to him I felt a surge of relief as I could see him moving. I asked him if he was okay, he told me he was, although he thought he had broken his leg. I tried to get him up, but he couldn't place any weight on it. I was still terrified, firstly by what we had just experienced, but secondly we were still under the gully, and I was worried more snow or rocks would fall on us. Tom soon realised this and gradually began dragging himself down the slope to the safer flatter section of the corie. About this time we were joined by two middle aged climbers who had seen us avalanched. I didn't get their names, but I'll never forget the help they gave us, and the part they played in getting us off the mountains (if you ever read this guys, we owe you a drink or two). They helped strap Tom's leg, and started us down to the flatter section, they also blew their emergency whistles to alert other climbers and walkers in the area that there was an emergency.

Next over to help was a mountain guide called John. He helped us get down to the safer section, and immediately sent the two other guys for help. He also sent another walker down another path, instructing him to also call mountain rescue. We then set about arranging shelter, as we knew it would be a long wait, and the wind was gusting and snow falling. John had a bothy bag shelter with him (essentially a large plastic bag that helps eliminate wind chill) which he gave us, and he also gave Tom his spare jacket. It was about this time that we realised that there was blood coming through Tom's trousers. We immediately took a look at the wound. The wound was completely open, his knee cap smashed, and his tendon torn, though luckily there was no major bleeding. We applied a bandage and strapped it up. I have to say that given the seriousness of the wound Tom showed remarkable courage - he hardly complained, and only showed understandable worry.

As we started arranging shelter two other guides joined us, Graham and Zac. Again, both checked we had everything we needed in terms of food, drink, and warm clothing. We took some, though we always operated at large safety margins on the mountains, carrying plenty of food, drink, and spare clothing. Even so, the equipment they gave us, and the time, reassurance, and organisation played a huge role in getting us off the mountain. They really were legends and we owe them a lot.

Finally, once we were as comfortable as we could be. John and Zac set off to take their own clients down, and check mountain rescue were on their way. Graham stayed with us. He didn't have to, I was pretty much okay, just bumped, bruised, and in shock. But he decided it was the right thing to do. Again, it's difficult to know how to say thank you to someone for showing that kind of generosity of spirit, I did what I could and shared my fruit cake with him. I don't know how long we lay huddled waiting, but it was a while. We knew if the weather was okay and there was one available then the helicopter would be sent, but that if weather was not permitting then Tom would have to be carried out - a big job, and more importantly a very lengthy one. Graham joked around with us, and generally kept our spirits high. And finally we heard the helicopter.

I have to say that it's an image I will never forget. Sticking my head out of a bothy bag, and seeing a huge RAF helicopter hovering right in front of me. I was called out first and taken about 100m in front of us to the bowl of the corie, where it was safer to lower the winch. They placed the harness under my arms and up I went. Then the pilot maneuvered the helicopter through the wind, right over where Tom was, and he was brought up. Graham was left on the mountain to make his own way down, we waved him off - genuinely thankful.

Once on the helicopter, I began to feel my own bumps and bruises. Every muscle in my body ached, though nothing like they do now. All over my legs I had small cuts, and one deep puncture wound where a crampon must have gone into my calf.

The helicopter took us to Fort William, where we were met by an ambulance and taken to hospital. Even though we thanked the helicopter crew profusely, I'm not sure they understood how grateful we were. Moutain Rescue is on the whole operated by volunteers and the army, if it wasn't for them then we really would have been in the shit. I'll be making a small donation soon, but also plan to try and raise some sponsorship money for them in the near future, they're real heroes.

So that's what happened. The hospital looked after us brilliantly, my little cut went back together with some stitches...

...but Tom is still in hospital. He'll be there a week, and then have many months of rehabilitation. But I know he'll approach it the same way as he dealt with it on the mountain - toughing it out one bit at a time.

So thanks again, seriously, genuine thanks, to all the people who helped us. The helicopter crew, and the hospital staff. During an experience of blind fear, utter panic, and real pain, we got to see the best in people, their generosity, their professionalism, and their good humour. In the longer term I hope that's what I remember from the experience, rather than the depressing shocked feeling I have now. We'll see in time I suppose.

Comments

[Marcus Brown]

bloody hell. bloody hell. bloody hell.

[Will]

What Marcus said.

Glad to know you made it back ok, and pass on my best to you friend - hope his rehabilitation goes well.

[Harry C]

A riveting account Paul and we are with you in our admiration of those mountain rescue teams. Your Mum and I are so relieved that you both survived the experience and very proud of the way you handled the situation. We'll be keeping tabs on Thomas' progress.
See you soon.

[davidthedesigner]

Hmmm. It's that realisation - I think - that we're all mere mortals that comes as the real shock.

I think this really deserves to be the 'Post of the Month' over at Russell's blog (http://russelldavies.typepad.com/ ).

[Alex]

Good lord, Paul. I hope it isn't tacky to say how lucky you both were. I'm sure it doesn't feel like luck... My best to your friend.

[Helen]

Oh my goodness. I had trouble reading that and am very relieved to hear that you're ok. I hope Tom's recovery goes well too.

Shock's a very odd thing, take it easy.

[Dylan Trees]

Good grief. A harrowing read.

Post of the month. No contest.

[Deb]

Glad you are finally home - hear getting back was a nightmare too! oh and that pic of your knee has actually put me off my lunch so thx for that. Love ya.

[russell]

Blimey.

[Richard]

Astonishing account, had to pull myself together afterwards. Glad you are in one piece old chap.

[ELE]

Glad you are safely home, Paul. May Tom's recovery be smooth and rapid.
All the best.

[Colman]

Thanks for the kind words everyone.

I'd like to say that I was very much in two minds about writing this post. I thought carefully about whether it was the right thing to do. On one hand I wanted to remember and record the horror of the experience, so it didn't become romanticised in my mind. I also wanted to make sure I publicly acknowledged the help we received when we hit trouble. And I guess I also wanted to examine my own thoughts and feelings about it. This blog is primarily for me, things I want to remember, things I want to discuss, and things I want to make public. If people are interested then great, if not, well then never mind.

On the other hand, someone got hurt and we both nearly died, and I don't won't to make light of that by putting it up on here. Also, there is a tendency in modern society for people to embrace victim hood, something I loathe. So I wanted to avoid those two things.

In the end I wrote the post, read it back a few times, and took the view that the right thing to do was to publish. On balance I think that was the correct decision.

[russell]

Definitely the right decision. This is the stuff blogging's for. It won't find its way into big media. It's not the same in conversation or passed on as 'gossip'. This is a real piece of information from someone you know. It's good and important.

[ed]

You guys are hardcore. Thank you to the rescue team and friends.

[beeker]

Jesus. Reading this from a hotel room in the middle of nowhere...and was totally unprepared for it.

Glad you're ok.

[TomLR]

Man you drop hammer big.

Russell, can blogging be about playing the bagpipes and writing letters to Ruth Madoc and Fatima Whitbread too ? If not we're all in for some mountaineering training.

Think yourself lucky Paul - and your friend - it's an immense story - one that makes lives and elation as well as stories - and fear and memories that will remain as I am sure it will with you and your friend.

You can see how pleased we all are to have you back - your parents and wife clearly more than any of us.

An impressive event - one of huge perspective and insignificance in many ways - difficult to think how you must have felt on that mountain.

Not really 'Life in the Middle', is it ? You may have to rename your blog.

Welcome back, well done, thank god, or someone.

[Angus]

Cripes. Very glad you're both 'ok'. It's funny (or not) - I was worried when you hadn't posted for a bit that something had gone wrong. I'm sorry to have suspected correctly.

Bless those lovely lovely people for helping.

[Martin]

Jesus.
Get well soon to you, but especially your mate Tom.

[Brett Macfarlane]

Be strong my digital friend.

You faced the ever present blogger challenge of how to scrapbook life (in this case very intesly) while balancing personal vs. professional life. Personally, I think the personal scrapebook strengthens the "professional" front. Or so I hope.

Glad you made it. Was the Tankard part of the journey?

[Colman]

Tom, I reckon we can blog about what we like (Russell won't mind, he's good like that). I for one am looking forward to getting back to the gibberish.

I'm feeling the love (and like someone dropped a hammer on me).

[Colman]

Thanks Brett and Martin.

The one good bit of good news is that I was going to take the tankard with me, but I forgot her (on purpose, it wouldn't fit into my bag). She will spend the last week at work with me, and maybe watch the rugby at the weekend. Then I think she is off to Ben, and God knows where.

[dipti]

For people who don't venture into the mountains, it's a bit difficult to understand what really happens there, or what it's like to be at the mercy of the elements. I'm sorry you had such an awful and terrifying experience, but relieved you returned safely, and grateful that you were brave enough to post about it so the rest of us can get a true sense of mountaineering. Good luck with your recovery and your friend's as well.

[Faris]

Cripes!

Glad you're ok mate.

[Javier]

Terrible nigthmare.
Glad you are ok.

It´s odd that, before all this time reading your blog, i realise that i´m worried about you more than other people in the "real world" out of internet.

[Jared]

I'm really glad you shared this with us. And more glad that you're ok.

[anthony]

dude that is frikking gnarly. Props for keeping it together. Was it really your worst Sunday ever though?

[lauren]

sweet jesus. thank god you and your friend are ok; my heart was sinking with each paragraph.

[Rich]

thanks for writing this, I've either heard too much or too little from T&V. Thanks for being the T's mate when he needed you most. Just as you were to me when we were growing up.
Cheers - be lucky

[Tony and Jane]

An amazing first hand account of something that we usually read about in books. Thank goodness that you were well prepared and that good people were on hand when needed. Take your time getting over it Paul, and we do hope that Thomas makes a good recovery. All our love, Tony and Jane X

[neil]

My god.
Glad to hear you both made it out of there.

[Colman]

Thanks again to every one for their kind words. I like reading them very much.

Rich, your brother didn't need much looking after, he really did tough it out. At one point as we sat huddled in a bothy bag, in strong winds, his leg strapped up, snow falling outside, he turned to me and said "it's a waiting game isn't it", we looked at each other and burst out laughing. Truthfully, he kept me going as much as I kept him going.

[Colman]

Oh and Anthony, good question. I did once spend a Sunday in Ikea - that was worse, just.

[gareth]

glad you're ok and you both made it out of that. a truly stunning read that puts things in perspective somewhat.

[Charles Edward Frith]

Once you get over this very close encounter with your own mortality, I'm sure you'll love life even more, it's usually the way. Take it easy until then.

[Yousuf Rangoonwala]

Hey Paul,

Am glad Tom and you survived the tough times. And here's wishing Tom and you a speedy recovery, from the physical pain and the mental shock.

I had a similar - but nothing so harrowing - experience in Dec 2005 and I know how the feeling is when you think you're gonna die.

Anyways, all's well that ends well. Take care.

Cheers
Yousuf

[doug]

what a read... amazing and scary... really glad all's OK

[doug]

'ok' in the biggest sense of the term, of course, given your pal's condition

[Colman]

Thanks again chaps, appreciate it.

[np]

Thanks for sharing this. Glad you're okay.

[Marcus]

Paul, I've had a little idea for raising some money for mountain rescue.

http://marcus-brown.blogspot.com/2007/03/mountain-rescue.html

What do you think?

[Colman]

As the rappers say - "it's all good".

[Rob Mortimer]

Wow, how did I miss this?

Glad you are ok, thats quite a story.

Maybe we should follow Marcus's lead and have a blogosphere drive to raise money for them?

[LeeroyB]

Hope you are well Paul, is Tom still in FC?
I'm in for raising a bit of cash for the mountain rescue chaps and chapesses. I think I'd like to buy a painint aswell.
I shall go away and formulate a cunning plan to raise a few quid for a good cause.

[Colman]

He is still in FC Leeroy. I saw him at the weekend, and at Mrs. H's funeral today. He has a brace now instead of cast, which is good, as it's way more comfortable.