Slowly, he climbed into the Coire of the Calves, the Coir' nan Laogh, to the sound of ptarmigans and gulls. It was clear below, but not in here. He stopped to put on crampons and eat a second breakfast. It grew steeper, but icy hard and firm underfoot. There was no visible way ahead. Scree appeared then disappeared out of the bright white soup. The wind gusted, swirled and eddied, bringing a squall of sleety snow, which melted on his jacket. As if in a dream, a hallucination, he was drawn on.
On the phone, the midwife told her to come in if she was worried. The hospital was full, and it was ‘too early’, but it was fine to come in for peace of mind. And so she did. Everything looked normal, although she was apparently going to be having this baby 3 weeks early. Before going home, the doctor did an examination. She was told she was in active labour. Sooner than expected, then.
After the cairn at Damsel’s Hill – Tom na Gruagaich – the way looked a little more technical. He hesitated for a while, then trusting to instinct, fate and experience slid off the first slab and landed gently on solid snow. The ground was mostly firm and the rock hard. Only the surface ice deceived, but this could be chopped away with the axe. The going was abstract – charcoal lines, the briefest of rock sketches, colours drained, just battleship greys and dirty whites. Up and down, picking his way through sandstone slabs and peering through clag to the cornices. All was quiet, sublime, surreal. Gently now, save your strength, this is only the beginning.
The hospital staff found her a room around 9am. She met her midwife, a young mum from the Czech Republic who asked the right questions. The cramps were on cue, about 3 in 10 minutes. She was of a mind to do this her way. No pain, no gain. The breathing really helped, and she only had to get through a minute at a time. She’d always been a determined woman, that wasn’t about to change now.
There were points where there was no line at all between ground and sky. Inching forward across soft drifts at the bealachs and accepting the feedback of slope aspect from feet, axe and pole. It was hard to say what was happening, shuffling forward with so little to go on. For a few seconds only, the cloud lifted, and he saw the way he’d come. Maybe there was still a way to go back?
After 4 hours, a litre of water and some toast, she was making good progress. The cramps were harder to bear, but with really deep breathing she was still able to resume control whenever her concentration slipped. She quickly grew used to the idea of her child deciding to come early.
A steep up climb on hard neve, then an intimidating line with no way ahead. Just a cornice, and some vertigo. It took a while to understand in the clag that this was the Eag Dubh, the Black Notch. Sense starved eyes sought out the rimed slabs beyond. He inched down and around to the left, then front pointed quickly up a terrible arc to the top of the summit bearing the name – Sgurr Mhór, the Big Peak. With his back to the wind and the summit cairn, he took lunch, and the clouds parted. Yellows, blacks and tans down on the ground far below, terra firma. The way ahead was an illusion, an upturned V that swooned, if a hard line can, in and out of swirling water vapour.
Three hours more, and labour was slowing down. The staff now seemed concerned about the position of the child’s head. They suggested another hour before introducing powerful contraction inducing drugs. She wanted to retain control. She went into herself, talking to her unborn. Concentrate. Together they would resolve this without further help or interference.
The Horns of Alligin lay ahead. Before that, an impossibly steep descent, with fine piped crests of snow on the ridges inbetween. This hill was definitely beyond the expectations of his own ability – was he pushing his luck? The first was the hardest. He clambered up breathless, then unwisely traversed out onto a sheer and rotten snow slope with the ground giving away beneath spongy feet – and a queasy drop. Another desperate section where the axe refused to bite on powdery snow and a single large angled flat slab. He scratched and crawled his way to the top, jamming crampon points, thighs and stomach into and onto whatever might provide enough friction. Some fear. Not elegant, but completely absorbing. It lasted forever but seemed to end in seconds.
An hour later, and the doctor examined her again. The internal dialogue had worked, the doctors seemed happier with progress, and it was OK to continue without the IV drugs…for now. Relief. Her shoulders visibly relaxed. Over the next hour, the contractions grew much stronger. It was all she could do to control them through breathing and visualisation. She accepted a little gas and air to help with the pain, and conserve their energies for what lay ahead.
After that scratchy, sketchy ascent, there was no way back. There was just forward. Ahead lay a high thin line, then a reverse descent taken on all fours. Now and again, muscles began to spasm, and some doubt rose up. He suspended disbelief and ploughed on. The second climb looked worse than it was. The reality was short and sweet. Then again, going down was fairly sickening. Willing the spikes to catch on a thin line of sandstone. Caution, friction, and persuasion.
She screamed ‘I can’t do it!’ and the first tears fell. Fatigue was taking over. She’d been pushing through the contractions for an hour, maybe two? The pain and breathlessness was exhausting, and she felt a lack of modesty. Later, the midwife called a different doctor. They were concerned about the time. Again! They advised the same drug to increase contractions, and preparations for a forceps delivery if that failed to work. Escalation. She stared down the tunnel of rapidly reducing options. Finally, she finally consented to the drugs and willed the contractions to get stronger. Half an hour later, they were out of time. More forms were signed, the anaesthetist was called.
The third horn looked banked out from a distance, but proved simple close up. There was a way around to the right side, an easy rimed gully. He marvelled at the mute thump of steel finding firm purchase in frozen turf. On the final summit, he stopped, peed and ate. The hills far below were ablaze. What an end. All of winter pressed hard into one day, a diamond of joy.
In the theatre, she was frightened. She joked wanly as the staff prepped the room and numbed her. They do this every day. It was still completely hers, still a force of nature, as she pushed beyond herself. After all those hours, now it lasted only minutes more.
He drove home from Torridon and an hour later she went into labour. He was glad and honoured she had waited for him. They drove to the Royal at 4am. She gave birth to their brown haired daughter 16 hours later.