It began with a film. Twenty executives struggled their way up a mountain in an enormous gale. One member of the team got hypothermia and had to be heavily assisted. Against all odds, they made it to the summit. Once off the mountain, almost at the end of their tether, they were picked up by fishing boat, given a single black bin bag and told to strip off and swim to land. The executives rebelled, so the instructors jumped, leaving the rebels to man the boat. The executives were from Rockwater, the place was Ardmore, and the chief was John Ridgway. The film, although focused on the Rockwater team, was dominated throughout by Ridgway, a man as known for his eccentricity as for his achievements. The question was “Does putting these people through hell make them better at their job?”
Six months later I walked into Ardmore to begin a university summer job as cook and assistant instructor. I had no relevant qualifications and precious little experience. I had simply written a letter telling Ridgway how the documentary had inspired me, and I was invited to run into Ardmore for an interview. They asked me if I could cook- the answer was ‘No’! Did I know what food should taste like? Yes! OK then, you will learn. Did I run? No! Never mind, you will, would you like to join the team. Ridgway seemed a giant of a man, his adventures legion. He had rowed the Atlantic with Chay Blyth, sailed around the world, followed the Amazon from source to sea, the list went on…even his daughter Rebecca became the first woman to canoe around the ferocious Cape Horn. His wife MC had been with him nearly everywhere and his younger daughter had been rescued and adopted from a Peru ravaged by the Shining Path. They are a family of survivalists, setting long odds and overcoming them as a way of life.
Ardmore itself is unique. The adventure school is set on a remote peninsula in Sutherland, high on the North West coast of Scotland. From the sea and the hills around, Ardmore shines out as a small patch of jewel green grass perched on the edge of a sea loch; there is no way in by road. Visitors must walk or run in, the stores are dropped at the far end of the loch and picked up by boat, the postman does a three mile round trip on foot to call daily. On a fine day the sky is dominated by mountains, Ben Stack, Suilven, overwhelming, mighty Foinaven. The loch mirrors these giants, and smaller sleeker shadows: English Rose IV, sailed single-handed to Brazil, English Rose VI, once the fastest around the world, the Patagonia Express, the Avon inflatable used to sneak up on the Gran Campo Nevado ice cap. All are still in regular use. On wild days, the loch was lashed by horizontal rain, the mountains vanished and the rigging sang like demented banshees in the mist.
Life at Ardmore was about survival. Ridgway is a scathing perfectionist: instructors are never late, always prepared for any eventuality, are neat, run between buildings, don’t fall over, ever, never have to retie their shoelaces….we had to be superhuman, the example for the courses to emulate. The three principles were self reliance, positive thinking and to leave people and places better than you found them. No lapses and no mistakes. It was hard enough on a normal day to perfect all the details. Halfway up a mountain in a gale with a full 24 hour pack and miles to go before even the prospect of sleep, to enthuse and inspire others then…There were many jokes: “ the right way the wrong way and the Ridgway”, “I used to be terrified of John, now I’m just careful”, all with a sting of truth. There were many quotes, usually bellowed across a hillside: “Engage the brain”, “Are you being effective?”, “A sense of urgency, please”. These still haunt me today.
Days began at 6am with a run if we were home, as early as 4am if we were out and about. I had never run before either, but was immediately expected to beat all the girls on the course and a couple of the men! And the clients would try very hard to beat us! During the children’s courses we would be out most nights, bivvying or camping on the hill or hunkered down on Survival Island. Activities included hillwalking, climbing, sailing, canoeing, and the more educational initiative tests, team building exercises, Search and Rescue drills, and lectures on local flora and fauna. The executives came only for a week, had no lectures, only one night out and also expected gourmet catering. Activities were worked into exercises to improve teamwork, communication, and the three principles. They also had to be fun. Debriefs were extensive and designed to teach, for the participants and for us.
For we instructors the season was an endless summer school. We were a group of incredibly disparate individuals, mostly in our late teens, with little in common bar Ardmore. The lads were mostly preparing for their army boards, often after initial rejection. For many months I was the only girl in the barracks at the bottom of the hill. Priorities changed. No telly, no money, no freedom, no time, no privacy, no beer, no fresh milk. Treats were parcels, strangers, visits to the doctor, end of course concerts, the sunny day, the jokes and the craic. Strange to go through so much with folk and then to part still as relative strangers. Part of the magic was that nobody knew you- they took you as you showed yourself to be, and there was simply no veneer left after a hard day on the hill. There was no place to hide the flaws in your character on the bad days.
We had to work together effectively to keep the course safe and smooth; most often the problem was too many chiefs. We too were extensively debriefed. Positive thinking; after ten weeks of rain…self reliance; dry clothes after ten weeks of rain…leaving people and places better; this was the best bit, the part that for me made it all worthwhile, planting an idea, the debrief that may galvanise that child into a lifetime of achievement, watching the shy grow in confidence and stature, watching the team become greater by far than the sum of its parts.
There are magical places in Sutherland that still haunt my daydreams. I can still remember the frustration of walking up the slipping sliding slopes of Arkle, the ultimate demonstration of entropy, the hill that will one day be a flat featureless boulder strewn plain. The scene of Ridgway’s test for me: simple enough now but a challenge then. A solo ascent of Arkle, alone on my day off, and be back in time to cook supper. The weather was poisonous that day, gale force winds, swirling mist, rocks slimey with water on the cusp of ice. I still think of that as the day I truly learned to navigate, looking for the 4th stream which was our way down off the hill and onto the path home. Wild days are often the best. The perfect compact bothy at Lone, scene of many a restless night, set on the flanks of Foinaven, surrounded by salmon lochs and Highland garrons. The glacial cirque overhanging Strath Dionard, surely a place of power, it is geologically the oldest valley in Europe, the wildest campsite with the best view, a magical eyrie for looking out over the wild wild hills. And the favourite of all, the tiny bothy caught between the countless lochans in Ceathram Garbh, deep in the heart of the lonely quarter, where the otters ran in the stream in the mornings.
I learned much while I was at Ardmore. I learned to cook! I finally learned to navigate properly, and to time and distance. I learned to negotiate with the Scottish hills; winter is still harder there than anywhere else but now forboding rather than forbidding. I learned to run and to love running. I learned to love the peculiar life; the military routine, the chaps, the lethal doses of testosterone and endorphins in the air, being superfit, living out in the mountains. I learned to live within myself, through solitude, silence, storms. I learned that there is always more in you; climbing mountains with a full pack and a bunch of men who were determined to prove they could beat an instructor, I often had to dig deep, but there was always a little sliver of steel there somehow. I learned to teach, and to love teaching. I learned to lead, and to enjoy leading well. I learned by analysing others’ performance to closely monitor my own, I learned to spot the telling detail. I learned, above all, that anyone can do anything. Ridgway is extraordinary for his determination, his endurance and his dreams, but not necessarily for his talents. We could all do great things; it is just a case of wanting to enough. I can only hope that when I look back again in another fifteen years, I too will have done good and worthwhile things.
It’s more than 15 years now…MD FRCS PGCME, head of department, 500 cancers, E3, WI5, BE100, almost a finished advanced horse…not running much though- sorry John.
