base control and all that?’
The young man laughed. ‘Naw...we’ve just got an equipment store behind the police station. It’s all controlled from Inchnadamph. Mind, it’s not much better there. Just a garage with a store and a common room in it. Are you in a rescue team yourself?’
‘No ...no,’ Ben smiled, pleased that the young man thought he looked young enough and fit enough. ‘I’m from the Lake District. I work for a little newspaper there. I do a weekly report on the local rescue team’s call outs.’
The landlord returned and took their orders.
‘My name’s Ben, by the way,’ Ben said, holding out his hand. ‘I’ve got a lot of respect for you blokes. You do a great job.’
The young man shook his hand. ‘Alec...Alec Gordon. How come a Sassenach gets named after a Scottish mountain?’
‘My mother was a Scot.’
‘So you can’t be all bad,’ Alec joked. ‘Who’s your local rescue team then?’
‘Keswick.’
‘They must be busy if you have something to report every week.’
‘Virtually every week,’ Ben corrected. ‘It’s a very busy holiday area. I don’t suppose you’re quite as busy up here.’
‘No, thank God,’ Alec said, gathering the six halves on to a tray. ‘I don’t suppose we have more than ten incidents a year. Mostly walkers getting lost. And the odd sea cliff rescue, usually over at Dunnet Head. I believe they get very busy down at Glen Coe, but not many people come this far north.’
‘Do you get many fatalities?’ Ben wasn’t sure where the question came from. Something at the back of his mind must have pushed it forward.
Alec held the tray of drinks, and turned to leave the bar. ‘There’s usually one or two. Usually walkers getting lost in the winter...hypothermia.’
He started walking towards the corner table.
A raised voice came from behind Ben. ‘What about that time, three years ago. There was a lot dead that year.’
Obviously, one of the regulars had been listening to their conversation.
Alec returned to pick up his change from the bar. ‘Aye, it was a funny year that year right enough.’
‘What happened?’ Ben asked.
Alec pocketed his change, and stared in recall. ‘We had about eight deaths that year. And they weren’t the usual walkers getting lost. They were all fallers off crags. All badly damaged. There was some couples.’ He shook his head. ‘It was bad.’
‘Did the doctors or police have anything to say about them?’ Ben pressed on.
‘How do you mean?’
‘You know, when they came out to the scene to certify them.’
‘We can’t do that up here,’ Alec said. ‘We don’t have enough doctors or police and the distances are too great. We bring the bodies in to the nearest police station, and they call in a doctor for certification.’
‘Do you take photographs at the scene?’
‘Aye - they go to the police.’
‘And, no doubt, you keep a written record of each incident and do an annual incident report.’
‘Aye.’
Ben searched his pockets and found an old bill and a pen. ‘Look, Alec,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to keep you from your mates any longer. I’m putting my home address and E Mail address on the back of this bill. Would you mind sending me a copy of your annual report for that year?’
‘Aye - nae bother.’ He took the piece of paper, and didn’t ask Ben why he wanted the information, presumably because he wanted to get back to his meeting.
As he made his way back to Helen, Ben shouted to Alec: ‘where’s the next mountain rescue team south of Inchnadamph?’
‘Torridon,’ Alec shouted back. ‘It’s in the Torridon youth hostel.’
Ben raised his hand in acknowledgement, as he sat down beside Helen, and proffered the long-awaited dram.
‘What was that all about?’ Helen asked, patiently.
‘Oh! It’s just the local MR team...he’s going to send me some stuff down,’ Ben said, dismissively, not wanting to spoil Helen’s enjoyment of the music or her holiday.
Helen
The young man laughed. ‘Naw...we’ve just got an equipment store behind the police station. It’s all controlled from Inchnadamph. Mind, it’s not much better there. Just a garage with a store and a common room in it. Are you in a rescue team yourself?’
‘No ...no,’ Ben smiled, pleased that the young man thought he looked young enough and fit enough. ‘I’m from the Lake District. I work for a little newspaper there. I do a weekly report on the local rescue team’s call outs.’
The landlord returned and took their orders.
‘My name’s Ben, by the way,’ Ben said, holding out his hand. ‘I’ve got a lot of respect for you blokes. You do a great job.’
The young man shook his hand. ‘Alec...Alec Gordon. How come a Sassenach gets named after a Scottish mountain?’
‘My mother was a Scot.’
‘So you can’t be all bad,’ Alec joked. ‘Who’s your local rescue team then?’
‘Keswick.’
‘They must be busy if you have something to report every week.’
‘Virtually every week,’ Ben corrected. ‘It’s a very busy holiday area. I don’t suppose you’re quite as busy up here.’
‘No, thank God,’ Alec said, gathering the six halves on to a tray. ‘I don’t suppose we have more than ten incidents a year. Mostly walkers getting lost. And the odd sea cliff rescue, usually over at Dunnet Head. I believe they get very busy down at Glen Coe, but not many people come this far north.’
‘Do you get many fatalities?’ Ben wasn’t sure where the question came from. Something at the back of his mind must have pushed it forward.
Alec held the tray of drinks, and turned to leave the bar. ‘There’s usually one or two. Usually walkers getting lost in the winter...hypothermia.’
He started walking towards the corner table.
A raised voice came from behind Ben. ‘What about that time, three years ago. There was a lot dead that year.’
Obviously, one of the regulars had been listening to their conversation.
Alec returned to pick up his change from the bar. ‘Aye, it was a funny year that year right enough.’
‘What happened?’ Ben asked.
Alec pocketed his change, and stared in recall. ‘We had about eight deaths that year. And they weren’t the usual walkers getting lost. They were all fallers off crags. All badly damaged. There was some couples.’ He shook his head. ‘It was bad.’
‘Did the doctors or police have anything to say about them?’ Ben pressed on.
‘How do you mean?’
‘You know, when they came out to the scene to certify them.’
‘We can’t do that up here,’ Alec said. ‘We don’t have enough doctors or police and the distances are too great. We bring the bodies in to the nearest police station, and they call in a doctor for certification.’
‘Do you take photographs at the scene?’
‘Aye - they go to the police.’
‘And, no doubt, you keep a written record of each incident and do an annual incident report.’
‘Aye.’
Ben searched his pockets and found an old bill and a pen. ‘Look, Alec,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to keep you from your mates any longer. I’m putting my home address and E Mail address on the back of this bill. Would you mind sending me a copy of your annual report for that year?’
‘Aye - nae bother.’ He took the piece of paper, and didn’t ask Ben why he wanted the information, presumably because he wanted to get back to his meeting.
As he made his way back to Helen, Ben shouted to Alec: ‘where’s the next mountain rescue team south of Inchnadamph?’
‘Torridon,’ Alec shouted back. ‘It’s in the Torridon youth hostel.’
Ben raised his hand in acknowledgement, as he sat down beside Helen, and proffered the long-awaited dram.
‘What was that all about?’ Helen asked, patiently.
‘Oh! It’s just the local MR team...he’s going to send me some stuff down,’ Ben said, dismissively, not wanting to spoil Helen’s enjoyment of the music or her holiday.
Helen
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