extensive injuries to body and head.
Helicopter unable to reach the casualty because of low cloud. Body evacuated to a pick up point with some difficulty.
29th August Fannichs
Call out to assist Dundonnell MRT with search. Body found.
18th SeptemberBen Hope, Central Gully
Call out for missing man on Ben Hope. Body found among boulders 250’ below Central Gully. Sustained various multiple injuries consistent with his fall. Taken by helicopter to Inverness.
The usual mixture of stupidity, tragedy and a little humour continued to unfold. Ben had seen it all before. But, the man in the pub had been right. The difference with this one was that it contained eight deaths out of 15 incidents, compared to an average of one or two in other years. And six of them were falls from high crags.
Next, he studied the photocopy he had picked up at Torridon Mountain Rescue headquarters, reporting on incidents of two years ago. Again, it contained an exceptionally high mortality figure of nine, with five being falls from crags.
Maybe they were just freak years, he reasoned. Statistical blips. But it was strange that the years came one after another. What were the odds on that? Something itched at the back of his mind. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d scratched it. He was stubborn, and stupid, like that. He had chased up many a blind alley in his time; spent hours and days on a detail others couldn’t or wouldn’t be bothered with, often to find that he had wasted his time.
But, just occasionally, he hadn’t wasted his time, and he had found great satisfaction when his persistence paid off. This is what kept him going, like the good golf round remembered, the bad ones forgotten.
Tomorrow, he determined, he would visit Keswick Mountain Rescue HQ to check on their annual fatality statistics, and he still had to check whether Tessa Coleman’s fall from Dale Head was a one-off, or was it a regular accident black spot?
*
There was only one car in the Keswick Mountain Rescue headquarters’ car park. Ben recognised it as belonging to Ian the Controller .
‘One day I’ll remember to ask him his surname,’ Ben thought to himself as he walked across the emptyyard. Clearly, there was no call-out or training taking place.
Ian was sitting with his back to him when he entered the Control Room. He jumped, and shuffled some papers, as Ben greeted him.
Probably caught him reading a dirty book, Ben thought, smiling inwardly.
‘You frightened the life out of me,’ Ian barked.
He was renowned for stating the obvious. A crumpled anorak and muddy boots lay close to his stockinged feet.
‘Been far?’ Ben asked, conversationally.
‘Not really,’ Ian said. ‘Just along Friars Crag, down to Lodore and back along the valley.’
He was one of those strange characters you can never get close to, Ben had decided some time ago. He answered questions or made pronouncements, but he didn’t hold conversations. And he was always on his own. He never joined in the camaraderie of the rest of the team and never went to their fund raising events or annual parties. But, he was a very good controller: meticulous, accurate, reliable, fastidious with paperwork and records, often nagging team members to speed up and improve their written reports.
Most organisations have an Ian, Ben thought, remembering his work days, at the same time realising he didn’t know what Ian did for a living. That was something else to ask him - one day! Right now, he wanted to make use of Ian’s meticulous records.
Ian produced them with great alacrity, and spread them neatly on the control room table, obviously proud of their perfection. There were pie charts and graphs and lists and reports. All were colour-coded and bound in protective plastic sleeves.
Ben took out his notebook and pen as he glanced at last year’s Incident Report. As well as a written, detailed, summary of each of the 69 incidents, there was a pie chart showing the ‘Type
Helicopter unable to reach the casualty because of low cloud. Body evacuated to a pick up point with some difficulty.
29th August Fannichs
Call out to assist Dundonnell MRT with search. Body found.
18th SeptemberBen Hope, Central Gully
Call out for missing man on Ben Hope. Body found among boulders 250’ below Central Gully. Sustained various multiple injuries consistent with his fall. Taken by helicopter to Inverness.
The usual mixture of stupidity, tragedy and a little humour continued to unfold. Ben had seen it all before. But, the man in the pub had been right. The difference with this one was that it contained eight deaths out of 15 incidents, compared to an average of one or two in other years. And six of them were falls from high crags.
Next, he studied the photocopy he had picked up at Torridon Mountain Rescue headquarters, reporting on incidents of two years ago. Again, it contained an exceptionally high mortality figure of nine, with five being falls from crags.
Maybe they were just freak years, he reasoned. Statistical blips. But it was strange that the years came one after another. What were the odds on that? Something itched at the back of his mind. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d scratched it. He was stubborn, and stupid, like that. He had chased up many a blind alley in his time; spent hours and days on a detail others couldn’t or wouldn’t be bothered with, often to find that he had wasted his time.
But, just occasionally, he hadn’t wasted his time, and he had found great satisfaction when his persistence paid off. This is what kept him going, like the good golf round remembered, the bad ones forgotten.
Tomorrow, he determined, he would visit Keswick Mountain Rescue HQ to check on their annual fatality statistics, and he still had to check whether Tessa Coleman’s fall from Dale Head was a one-off, or was it a regular accident black spot?
*
There was only one car in the Keswick Mountain Rescue headquarters’ car park. Ben recognised it as belonging to Ian the Controller .
‘One day I’ll remember to ask him his surname,’ Ben thought to himself as he walked across the emptyyard. Clearly, there was no call-out or training taking place.
Ian was sitting with his back to him when he entered the Control Room. He jumped, and shuffled some papers, as Ben greeted him.
Probably caught him reading a dirty book, Ben thought, smiling inwardly.
‘You frightened the life out of me,’ Ian barked.
He was renowned for stating the obvious. A crumpled anorak and muddy boots lay close to his stockinged feet.
‘Been far?’ Ben asked, conversationally.
‘Not really,’ Ian said. ‘Just along Friars Crag, down to Lodore and back along the valley.’
He was one of those strange characters you can never get close to, Ben had decided some time ago. He answered questions or made pronouncements, but he didn’t hold conversations. And he was always on his own. He never joined in the camaraderie of the rest of the team and never went to their fund raising events or annual parties. But, he was a very good controller: meticulous, accurate, reliable, fastidious with paperwork and records, often nagging team members to speed up and improve their written reports.
Most organisations have an Ian, Ben thought, remembering his work days, at the same time realising he didn’t know what Ian did for a living. That was something else to ask him - one day! Right now, he wanted to make use of Ian’s meticulous records.
Ian produced them with great alacrity, and spread them neatly on the control room table, obviously proud of their perfection. There were pie charts and graphs and lists and reports. All were colour-coded and bound in protective plastic sleeves.
Ben took out his notebook and pen as he glanced at last year’s Incident Report. As well as a written, detailed, summary of each of the 69 incidents, there was a pie chart showing the ‘Type
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