| Richard Pash | (Swashbucklicus Splendididlius Lemonius) |
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A hardy and enthusiastic occurrence, rarely seen outside the arctic, except in the presence of toilet cleaning products. Naturally gravitates to horrible organisational nightmares, unpleasant chimneys and off-widths, in all of which he will be found revelling in an orgy of ungainly squirming behaviour. | |
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Appearance : Although frequently camouflaged by his polar bear and union jack disguises, this creature can be recognised by his dark blue Helly salopettes (which he never sheds) ever-present organisational books and pens, and a keenly worn collection of violently coloured headgear. Calls : "Hello / Sorry" (with posh accent), "Yeah, that'll be alright / that'll go", "Ooh, said the Moog, as he walked into a minefield…", "No, you do it like this…" Other characteristics : A fond reader of P.G. Wodehouse (possibly because of an in-built empathy with the characters) and the expedition's most enthusiastic, most organised participant. Our only married member, his wife Lucy was supposed to come on the trip, but through dreadful luck he ended up sharing a tent with Tom. Made the unfortunate mistake of climbing a marvellously high, difficult mountain under the (mistaken) impression that he was making the first ascent, only to find out the truth afterwards… AKA : Lord Pash / The Boy Wonder / Captain Splash / Dick Splash / Pilchard Rash etc. etc.etc. |
| Rupert Gladstone | (Gingerius Chunderous Dafti) |
| This one-time rock lizard has approached the dizzy heights of his Sheffield hay day with some impressive monolith basking during the trip. An unfortunate allergic reaction to duck down landed him with the lightest load on the walk in, and he promptly recovered immediately and shot off into the distance. Apart from being annoyingly fit, he is quite impressively ginger, and advertises this fact by having lots of hair. This species is prone to attacks of extremely random humour. | |
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Appearance : A great lover of his Aquafleece salopettes, to which he showed his affection by stabbing, cutting, covering in many different foodstuffs and unzipping in an obscene manner. The aforementioned ginger hair is always in plenteous evidence, unless hidden by the Moose Helmet (now retired after an incident involving rocks denting it). Calls : "We've got lumps of it…round the back", "Luke, join the Daft Side" and other such, highly nonsensical expressions. Also (during bumpy flights) : "Hyuuuurrrrghghghghgh!" Other characteristics : Rupert is fairly insane about physical exercise, as his 22 hour attempt on the Nunnery followed IMMEDIATELY by a three day skiing escapade amply demonstrates. One of the less organised members of the expedition, he will be remembered by Andy for only taking one rock boot on the second attempt on the Golden Tower. AKA : Mr. G-Stone / Rupes / Woopert / Pert |
| Rupert Finn | (Oderus Goppius Fetidium) |
Another species well versed in the ways of the cold north, indeed a general globetrotter : this creature has been sighted from Ladakh to Bondi Beach, from Spitsbergen to Kilimanjaro, cycling, computer programming, climbing a bit, and investigating the local talent. Well known for his legendary bodily odours and substances (including GOP, his own patented creation), it may seem surprising that his tent was a regularly visited haven. A good cook, and a mountaineer with some good climbs under his belt, not to mention lard… |
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Appearance : He's lost the Aussie goggle-eyes by the time he arrived, but not the tan and the sideburns, which were only slightly compensated for by the later addition of face-fuzz. Famous for his Buffalo clothing and in particular the Waxy Crotch Strap, he also has a splendid red helmet of considerable vintage. During breakfast before major routes he can look frighteningly manic. Calls : "One Dollar!!!", "Hello" (with posh accent) Other characteristics : Rupert kind of chills his way to the top of peaks (he doesn't like ones which require too much hard graft), and then abseils back down them faster than you can say "where are the ab anchors?". He also displayed great chivalry to Dr. Walmsley, who resultingly agreed to second him up the most intimidating route climbed on the whole trip(The Bishop's Finger). It was all obviously a ploy… Rupert did one of the best wipeouts of the trip on his skis, with a face-first ice-breaking manoeuvre known as a "Face Plant". AKA : Finn / Woopert / Rupes / Gop |
| Dr. Sarah Walmsley | (Volubilia Chirpicus Nuttard) |
| Sarah wins the loony prize for never losing her sense of humour. In fact, she very rarely stopped talking; I'm not sure how she draws breath, but she can even giggle whilst falling over on a steep hanging glacier when wearing nordic skis. Of course, we found this endearing rather than wearing, and tried our best to look after our poor lonesome female. Unfortunately she didn't need protecting from anything other than herself, and proved that she could climb ANYTHING she was taken up. Including 800m high impersonations of the Dru and brand new E3s. D'OH! | |
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Appearance : With all that wavy hair and enthusiasm, flailing ice tools and baggy fleece trousers, it's hard to generalise. RugRatz meets Stevie Haston is one attempt. Psycho meets a female Ron Fawcett is another. Neither really hit the nail on the head. Calls : Numerous, although a regular occurrence of "Don't panic Mr. Mannering" and things involving Lemons was noted. Other characteristics : The only member of the trip to have their bottom boiled (in Tim's progressive cooking experiment). Sarah really didn't like her skis at all, and wore skins up AND down slopes in order to delay the moment when terminal velocity was reached. She became well known on account of her fine foot odours. I don't quite know how Andy coped in their tent, but then again he's no saint in the stench department. |
| Andy Parker | (Antimatinus Hardmanius Loboff) |
| Andy was the expedition hardman, with the unenviable position of being considered as the "secret weapon" on gnarly routes. This led to him being ushered in front by the grinning, sheepish Mr. Pash when confronted with what turned out to be a decaying, necky grade VI ice pitch near the top of the Actress. He made an early start in community spirited behaviour by gutting the cod given to us in Isafjordur. Andy doesn't like cooking early in the morning, and this tended to give him grey hairs. However, get him out of the kitchen and onto some clean, hard rock, and you won't find a happier man. This climber's flatulence has a half life of 10,000 years. It's considerable weight means it can fall through breezy air for thirty metres and still overpower unsuspecting companions. There was something of a mystery element to Andy, although only in so far as he was asleep during the highly revealing game of "I have never" during our last night in Iceland. | |
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Appearance : Andy's hair underwent continuous change. Cooking detail caused a dappled salt and pepper effect, but this was overshadowed by massive application of factor 300 suncream to the ears, beard and head, which when coupled with almost continuous wearing of The Cap, created interesting follicular status. The wearing of electric blue troll trousers (which I suspect help you to climb better) and very pink plastic boots was also a characteristic sign. Calls : "IT'LL GO…" / "AAARGH" (when dangling from one poor axe placement on lead) / "Climbing…ya canny whack it" and other less intelligible Edinburghisms worthy of Irvine Welsh. Other characteristics : Andy notched up the expedition's airtime record, with a very impressive performance on, or rather off, the Golden Tower during the first attempt. He snapped off a hold, left the rock and fell 20m through space, stopped BELOW his partner, Rupert Gladstone, two metres above a large terrace, and then looked up at the terrified Rupert and thoughtfully asked "You alright, mate?". As we all know, the route succumbed on the third attempt and was christened "Biggles Flies Again"… AKA : Mad nutter / Biggles / Gnarly |
| Tim Harvey | (Photogenicus Technicus Nordicum) |
| Tim was one of the saner members of the expedition, and was frequently happy to allow others to be silly while he experimented with a new-found love for skiing and his professional pastime, photography. He was one of the more technically skilled members of the team, and was particularly happy to be handed the pump action shotgun and the pencil flares. In the end, no Polar bears appeared, and all he managed to shoot was a pile of snow, but I know he enjoyed it. | |
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Appearance : Short and stocky, the man in black often trails a strange flag behind him in the arctic breeze, which apparently is the flag of some French island in the channel. Calls : Quite a quiet beast, this one, although he was immortalised in the remix of the "Sunscreen Song", which now carries the title, "Don't Wash"… Other characteristics : One of the more community spirited members, Tim hoiked a barrel of meltwater up the Hedgehog glacier on his pulk in order to help save us all from dying of thirst. He came up with the silliest name for a mountain (Smurf) and his greatest hero is Sir Ranulph Feinnes. Tim was quite a good cook, but his sudden craving for parboiled rump (Sarah's) was neither fulfilled nor appreciated. AKA : Dim / Nice but Dim |
| Dan Haywood | (Fumus Geeza Pilefibrilus) |
| Dan was the expedition's original "chilled geezer", and had a great morning routine of exiting his tent in ski boots and boxer shorts, scratching his arse and smoking a cigarette in the sun, before retiring again for a while. He has apparently climbed such gritstone masterpieces as London Wall, although his grading of A2 caused suspicions in the climbing fraternity. Dan managed one of the best wipeouts on the Nordic Skis we used, involving falling flat on his face and thus firing his crampons forward twenty feet off the top of his sack. He was the author, with Tim, of one of the longest routes on the trip, on Serpent Peak. | |
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Appearance : Dan's well-loved trademark was his collection of Montane fibre pile clothing, including the "spacious hood" design. We all know exactly what boxers Dan wore and for how long (see earlier). Calls : Dan added "age" to everything, as in "spoonage" instead of spoon and "ropage" instead of rope. He also said random things in a Somerset accent such as "Get off my land" and "Radishes"… Other characteristics : Dan was one of the "Westwind Boys" in the only non-Geodesic tent of the trip, and was also owner of a helmet which got very badly dented during rockfall on The Nunnery. Dan doesn't like fjellpulken sled designs, as his kept overturning on the way out, which was a bit annoying really, especially after 13 hours. Being a geologist, he was able to tell us all that the chocolate-coloured intrusion through the peaks of the Lemon Mountains was not chocolate, and thus saved us all a lot of time and disappointment. On the way home, he found out that he had landed a high powered job digging holes in Doncaster. He went well prepared after digging loos and mess tents in Greenland… AKA : Geezer / Dan the Fag / Dan the Man / Tan |
| Tom Chamberlain | (Nudicus Lankius Incontineum) |
| Tom was the expedition's unknown quantity, found when Richard searched the web for one more to make up the team of 8. His first meeting with most of the team occurred at Heathrow, although Rupert G and Richard had already used him as a pin cushion during first aid training a week earlier. Given his height, Tom and tents didn't go well together, though this reputation is mainly founded on him almost busting Rupert's during a "tickling session', very dodgy… Tom was renowned for being slightly eccentric and occasionally totally lost the plot. He liked tinned kipper a lot. | |
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Appearance : Very tall and thin, usually nude although would adopt thermal trousers for particularly arduous ascents. usually dressed in black and sporting a pair of broken sunglasses with micropore tape holding them together. Calls : "AYE", "You are a bugger" / "You're a loony" (with Yorkshire accent), Other Characteristics : Although a reasonably sensible climber, in times of need Tom can resort to complete lunacy, for example his solo of a rather unpleasant spike on The School Room in order to place an ab sling, and his extremely long runout having used up all the screws on the second grade VI pitch on the Actress. His career nearly ended when lots of rocks fell off above him on "The Daft Side", resulting in one of the highest pitched screams anyone had ever heard (audible from Base Camp). AKA : The Snyrt / Lanky / Mad Bastard / Top Cat |
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Question. How do you persuade 7 people to go on an expedition to Greenland for 4 weeks and to part with £2000 along the way? Answer. Ha ha. Allow about a year and lots of telephone calls. |
I had been planning an expedition to Greenland over a year before we left. I asked all my expedition friends, but for one reason or another only 3 could make it, myself, Rupert Finn and Lucy (my wife). Then as the time drew near, Lucy's work refused to let her go. A period of soul searching followed and Lucy decided not to leave her job, so we were down to two people from 'the core'. I found 6 others, but the odds against were so considerable that it is worth writing about.
Although it may not read this way, we had a full compliment (or nearly a full compliment) from 10 months to go. However there were many that slipped by the wayside…
Andy. (friend of a friend) Andy is the flatmate of one of my school friends (Dave Nevard) who now lives in Edinburgh. Lucy and I were visiting Dave for the weekend and happened to notice a collection of rather impressive climbing photographs on the wall (Andy doesn't need climbing posters, as his snaps are impressive enough). Later Andy returned home and immediately said 'yes' when I talked about the trip. Not thinking that he meant it I continued to Showing off in Reykjavik Airport waffle on. Andy said "look Richard, I've said yes, you can "stop if you like"
Sarah. (friend of a friend of a friend) Sarah met Andy when she was a doctor at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary (Andy is a pharmacist) and spent several winters climbing Scottish winter routes (I'm not jealous, honest). The evening Andy and Sarah came around to look at photographs Sarah was strangely quiet (Strangely - I didn't realise this until later!). Andy said he'd never seen her so quiet! I was delighted to have another girl on board… or so I thought until Lucy dropped out. Fortunately Sarah took her holiday with seven men within her stride…
All the medics I have spoken to were amazed she managed to get 4 weeks holiday. Well it wasn't that simple: it was originally on condition that she passed an exam in January. Unfortunately she failed it (being the brain box that she is this surprised a lot of people) and had to plead with her supervisor. They kindly let her go and she passed the exam on the next sitting!
Rupert G. (friend of a friend) From his beach side apartment in Sydney (or was it Thailand, New Zealand or Hawaii?) Rupert Finn sent me an e-mail: "..at least three of my uni mates are interested…". I met up with Rupert G in the Peaks on a trip with the 'Super Droopers' and was instantly impressed with him patiently belaying other climbers who were quite below his standard (good practice for climbing with me…). We instantly got chatting (I bet I've got a more disgusting story about Rupert F than you…).
By the time we left for Greenland Rupert had proved he was the most social member of the trip, having come on just about every exped meet organised
Danny (friend of a friend of a friend). I thought that Rupert G knew Danny quite well until I discovered that he didn't.
It took a while to get to know each other Rupert had sent around a chain e-mail in Sheffield to find people. We knew Danny would be OK after we went to a party at another Super Drooper weekend and he ended up drinking beer out of someone's fat, hairy tummy button. About February Danny was obviously having a bit of a final year money crisis because I had a woeful telephone call with the "two grand is a lot of money man" story; fortunately I was able to enthuse him into changing his mind with an e-mail (see frontispiece)…
Tim (the cousin of a friend of a friend of a friend). Rupert G spent the winter studying icebergs in Antarctica making it more difficult to exploit his Sheffield contacts. From an e-mailed list of hopefuls I tried a good friend of his, Chris Harvey, who said although he couldn't make it to try his cousin… Tim was so keen he flew over from Guernsey to see the photographs, he had been wanting to go on a Tangent expedition for years. Immediately Tim joined there was a flood of plastic barrels, offers of radio equipment and bales of bubble wrap, I was delighted
Tom (the information superhighway, lady luck). Tom was Lucy's replacement, about 12 weeks before we left. I sent round a circular e-mail to a friend of mine who is at Oxford Uni, asking him to pass it onto the Mountaineering Club president to circulate to anyone and everyone he knew. This then went to Cambridge Uni MC and was further distributed. Tom was on a gap year in France… I stagger to think of the odds. He had wanted to visit Greenland for years… Rupert G, Lucy and I met him in Eskdale one weekend he had come home to visit his parents and girlfriend.
And suddenly we were eight!
Given that we lived in London, Norwich, Sydney, Edinburgh, Mulhouse, Guernsey and Sheffield meeting up was always going to be a bit tricky. We actually did quite well and organised 10 weekends before we left, it's just that not everyone came to them! As I stood in the departure lounge of Heathrow with my rucksack I wondered how well everyone who hadn't met would get on…
Peaks. Where I met Rupert and Andy for the first time. Obviously trying to kill their expedition leader I led Great Portland Street (HVS 5b) with a lot of leg shaking and seconded Hearse Arete (E1 5b) with Andy. I was trying to persuade Lucy that I was recruiting a sensible, responsible group of people until we had a lift in Andy's Escort…
Wales. Where Danny drunk an intoxicating liquor from the navel of a large man. Typical crappy Welsh weather, we planned to climb on Tryfan and I was defeated again, instead we found some excellent scrambles. Richard the spacker soaked the car alarm immobiliser in the top pocket of his rucksack and had to dry it out on the hand dryer in the Vaynol Arms whilst the alarm went off… Andy disappeared to see James in Manchester and I learnt about eastern European motorbikes from Danny. We did eventually find the Super Drooper party, but I'm not sure if Danny was so pleased in the end…
Lakes at Easter. Where Lucy, Rupert and I ran up Scafell pike. Mixed weather so we ran in the drizzle and climbed in the sun. We met up with Tom one stunning Eskdale evening and then lay in the evening sunlight next to Wast Water.
Wye Valley. Where Rupert discovered old form and I discovered I had left my harness undone. The big cliffs of Wintour's Leap heralded more big climbs to come…
Lakes May day bank holiday. Where Rupert discovered that I like chimneys and I discovered that I don't like HVS grunts. One of those blissful, halcyon weekends in Langdale. Perfect May weather and fabulous Gimmer crag climbing. Unforgettable. A pint of beer, a Cumberland sausage and a sticky toffee pudding at the end of the day.
The Packing Weekends. Where Danny exorcised his fetish for bubble wrapping. I'm not sure if I will ever get the custard out of my carpet… Danny went to Somerfield to buy ingredients for a bomb and 26 Queens road experienced its first food avalanche in the hallway. Beer on the deck in the garden before the Twickenham Tandoori. Andy came down to visit his 'sister' in London but we found out about other motives
Glencoe. Where Rupert and Andy found some tricky Scottish rock and I wondered what it would be like to live that close to Kinlochleven.
The Welsh 3000'ers. Where we got up at 3am on Saturday morning to climb fourteen 3000ft peaks and run/walk 26 miles. Only the superhuman Gladstone completed the challenge to the congratulations of his rather chuffed dad. Sunday morning Pete's Eats never tasted so good ('yes I would like extra chips with my mixed grill, eggs and beans')
The Royal Marines Training. Where Rupert looked rather pasty and the arm-butcher Pash was once again unleashed with a needle. Tom met Sarah, and discovered the famous hospitality of Lucy's parents. He was earlier missing-presumed-lost somewhere on the lanes below Haytor and arrived showing less youthful vigour than his host (over 3 times his age). The party does not stop at midnight at Hooks cottage…
We were very lucky to have two distinguished patrons of our expedition, Sir Chris Bonington and Major General RHG Fulton, Commandant General Royal Marines.
Sir Chris Bonington CBE
Everyone in our group has great admiration for Chris Bonington, so combined with the fact he has visited the Lemon Mountains twice (in 1991 and 1993) made him the natural person to ask. We were planning to visit the site of his 1993 expedition (Chisel Glacier), but we found so much good climbing on the Hedgehog Glacier that it seemed a waste to move. He left his job with Unilever (my employer) to become a professional mountaineer!
Major General RHG Fulton, Commandant General Royal Marines
We are indebted to the Royal Marines for supporting us so generously. Major General Fulton has been an excellent patron and very kind to us. The Royal Marines organised a days training at their barracks in Plymouth, which included expedition first-aid and crevasse rescue. They also lent us climbing equipment and stocked our first aid kit with an armoury of drugs and IV fluids.
For the training in Plymouth we would like to thank C/Sgt. Crombie, Lt. C. Wilson and MA Starkie for giving up their weekend. Many thanks, it was an excellent day.
Although they may not be factually correct, newspaper articles always manage to write something that makes you smile, especially when you look at them a few years later. It's the "I never said that…" or corny "I'll climb a mountain for you, says Richard". The articles in my company newspaper were nestled amongst scoops on market share success of Comfort Fabric Conditioner and the latest quality improvements at the factory… I think we were probably the best read in that issue.
Tim Harvey
There was a slight feeling of trepidation among the group as the ski plane took off from the glacier and disappeared from sight, but the main feeling was one of excitement and anticipation. We cooked our first Arctic culinary delight before setting off for base camp. We were aware that we would have to ski for slightly longer than planned to reach our proposed base camp on the Hedgehog glacier in the Lemon Mountains. (The ski plane had had to land on a glacier a little way away due to the number of crevasses on the hedgehog and a lack of desire, particularly on the part of the ski plane crew, to visit the bottom of one). However, at this point I was blissfully unaware of just how long the journey would take and how tiring it would be. My main concern was never having skied before. Hence with sledges loaded and attached to us, skins strapped to skis and much enthusiasm we commenced our journey to base camp.
Eight to nine hours later, we arrived at our destination exhausted. It was now seven o'clock in the morning, we had had no sleep in the last 24 hours, but we still had to collect the barrels and pitch camp before turning in. My first taste of skiing had been 'an experience!
The first couple of hours were great fun. We had been skiing downhill and the thrill of being in such an amazing place (beautiful scenery, bright blue sky, complete silence) had given me a buzz of energy. We had seen the midnight sun for the first time and the mountains just never seemed to end. This latter point had also made the journey seem unbelievably difficult since it was very hard to establish any idea of scale. We had been able to see the area we were heading towards for almost the whole eight hours, yet it had never seemed to be getting any closer, giving me the surreal feeling that, despite expending all that energy, I was skiing on the spot. It was very cold and at times I had felt physically sick with exhaustion and the weight of my sledge around my waist. Both energy levels and my spirits had been slightly raised by corned beef spread with primula, but that was our only group stop for food. I was very relieved to have reached base camp.
The ski in was one of the hardest things I have had to do that relies on both physical and mental stamina. The journey back to the ski plane landing site was even more technically difficult due to the drying out of the snow on the glacier in the intervening month. We had to rope up and progress was severely hampered by several crevasse fields which had to be carefully negotiated. Luckily no-one fell in a crevasse with their sledge attached but sledges often tipped over, had to be unclipped from their expedition member, righted and re-attached. Each time this was a little more demoralising, but at least I was now fitter and more accustomed to skiing.
Thinking only about the journeys between the ski plane landing site and base camp paints a rather grim, dismal picture compared with the fun I had skiing during other parts of the expedition. I often practiced skiing around base camp and combined this with taking photographs of some of the most amazing scenery I have ever seen, or am ever likely to see. The dimmer light at night was my favourite time for photographing; the glare from the sun faded slightly, combined with some interesting shadows. Rupert G and I went on a two day ski tour around the area in the 3rd week of the expedition. By this time skiing felt comfortable, even natural and I could pay slightly less attention to what I was doing and pay slightly more to the stunning views. Reaching two snowy summits on the ice cap over the neighbouring mountains and looking back at the Lemon Mountains was breath-taking. My spirits were slightly dampened by a fall and knee injury just as we started to return from the ski tour to base camp; trust me to fall at our furthest point from base camp! Much to Mr. G's amusement my weakened knee caused me to fall over fairly regularly for a while, but it could not sap my enjoyment of the adventure.
Despite my first and last effort at skiing (between the ski plane and base camp), and never having skied before, I am now hooked on cross-country skiing. I am sure the scenery and ambience will remain unsurpassed and we all have some great photos. I only wish that I had taken a picture of what was surely my dominant view throughout the trip, i.e. looking down at my skis!
Bradley Chase, Herts.
July 1, 1999
It's me, Ralphy, writing this epistle to you astride our rather splendid "double dumber", carved out of the hitherto virgin snows of the Immodium Glacier. Must say, having a rather fabulous time here, old chap : Lord Dick has chosen a truly stonking selection of unclimbed lumps. Hurrah for Dicky!
Well, of course, it's not your usual tea and cakes and cucumber sandwiches run of the mill stuff, oooh no. We are lunching off pemmican and seal meat, and it's all dehydrated stuff too. Took me absolutely ages in Harrods to find dehydrated crumpets, but I did, and my goodness I'm glad of them in times of need. The primus is roaring away well, and our earl grey tastes pretty marvellous when we brew up at each spacious ledge. We did bring an arga along, but the newfangled thing was so hot and heavy, it melted a hole in the snow, and went straight down to the bedrock, gah! How ghastly.
Anyway, climbed a rather superb runnel yesterday, old fellow. Hung all over with icicles it was, to such a degree that I was forced to break out the Polar Bear Pea Shooter and blast the damn things off!!! When the clouds of smoke and cordite cleared, I realised that I'd blown half the darned mountain away, a beastly thing to do I must say, quite a mistake that one shouldn't do and so on. Where was I? Oh yes, anyway, the upshot of it all was ("upshot", HAH!) that all it then took was a couple of swings of the trusty Alpenstock and we were tucking into jolly old pemmican and rehydrated cucumbers on top. Sir Christian Bonners would have been proud of us! We vindicated the true essence of "Siege Tactics" : blast the line to smithereens, that's what I say! Hah!
Your hockey stick came in most handy for, erm, playing hockey on the glacier. Cheers awfully. I really had better go now, must attend a black tie do in the mess before going clubbing down at the coast. Seal clubbing, I believe.
Tally ho, ta-ta for now, love to Mimsie,
Ralphie Rotheringham Smythe-Bonce