A couple of days before we began our sea kayak trip from Strahan on the west coast of Tasmania to Southport on the east coast, I got this message from an old and dear friend in Canada:
Hey S and D,
I am writing today as it is the first of Feb, the month of your BIG TRIP. The sea kayaking equivalent of the Salathe Wall on El Cap. Experts only. I know that you and Doug have practised, planned and trained to the max, and beyond, and will just need reasonable weather for a successful trip. So I wish you good weather, and success.
Cheers and all the best, Uncle Aitch.
I'd like a rope, Hamish is happy to solo (PC: DB)
Years ago on a ten day mountaineering trip into a remote and wild area of the Purcell Mountains, Hamish, Doug and I split from the rest of the group to establish a high camp out of the valley where the remainder of our party were camped to more easily facilitate climbs of various mountains by – as yet – unclimbed ridges. Yes, first ascents. Each night when we came back to camp, Hamish would regale us with tales from his climbing history which, by that time, (20 years ago) already spanned five decades and included dozens of first ascents in remote mountain ranges, hard rock and ice routes as well as the development of several local rock climbing crags including the first ascent of University Wall on the Stawamus Chief.
Hamish’s stories span continents, mountain ranges and disciplines. He had climbed hard ice routes and big walls, spent time in Camp Four in the Yosemite Valley climbing with Jim Bridwell, and journeyed deep into Canada’s remoter mountains with Fred Beckey. An accountant by education, Hamish is one of the best natural story tellers I’ve ever met: his stories absent of the now common self-aggrandisement were instead funny, humble, scary, occasionally instructive, mostly full of the joy and ebullience of a life-long climber pushing limits, seemingly fearless. We quickly came to call our around the camp stove – no smoky fires - evenings “Story Time with Uncle Hamish.” The moniker, abbreviated to Uncle Aitch stuck.
There’s something about getting a note from a friend when that friend expresses confidence in your abilities that helps to allay some of the quite natural – almost fearful – anticipation and anxiety that marks the beginning of any long trip. The training and preparation has been done, but, until the expedition itself is complete, there still lingers some doubt about whether or not you are equal to the task.
Two days later, as we paddled out of Hells Gates I remembered one of the last days I had climbed with Hamish before we left Canada. He led all the pitches as I was feeling stiff, sore, and probably sorry for myself. With his usual fearlessness and enthusiasm, Hamish decided to “quest” up above the finish of an established climb following a small crack up through a roof, hopefully, an extension to the current route which would instantly become a classic. He placed a small cam, went to pull the roof and abruptlly pitched off falling well below the belay and back down the route we had already climbed. He was bleeding profusely from a “flesh wound” he said and denied needing any medical attention or even a bandage from my first aid kit. We rappelled the route (abseiled in Aussie lingo), and Hamish promptly led the next two pitch route. The blood streak was still on the wall when I returned a few days later with friends.
Not many of us can be just like Hamish, but as a role model, there are few better.
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