by Kate Fowler or Kate Peek, to many

The last time I visited The Castle Mountaineering Club clubroom was in August 1986, during a hectic trip to England to put our house up for sale, pack belongings, and say farewell to family and friends. Alan and I had decided to settle in Norway after an initial two year contract and the reason we’d taken the temporary appointment in the first place had, I believe, much to do with the CMC. More than twenty years ago, only a few months after the Club was founded, I became an official paid up member and apart from honorary members, I believe Mike Anderson and I are now the longest standing Club members. From that time on my love for the hills and wild open spaces grew hence the prospect of new hills, combined with months of skiing was too great to turn down.

My experiences have ranged from early attempts at rock climbing, being more or less hauled up Diffs on Froggatt, moist struggles up “The Buachaille” from the warmth and in those days squalor of Lagangarbh, suicidal snow ploughs in white outs down the White Lady on Cairngorm and dirty bog trotting days on Kinder, to classic climbs in Llanberis, back packing in the remoter parts of the Scottish Highlands, summer holidays in the French Alps and now, the thrills and pleasure of Langrenn skiing over mountains, through forests and even on the sea in a good winter , for several months of the year.

I have no claims to great conquests, either on rock or hill. I’ve never been one for seeking the highest, fastest or hardest and my one attempt at outdoor competitiveness was a farce. This was the first Edale Skyline Race and the late Don Morrison cajoled me into entering.

“You’re fit,” he said.

Well, I’d not run anywhere for nearly fifteen years and I was, in those days, a very heavy smoker! I came in last OK, many had dropped out by the wayside and when I arrived back at Edale, nearly everyone had packed up and gone home. A voice from the darkness cried:

“Well done Kate, you’ve come second in the ladies section.”

Now, there were only four to start with and two of those had dropped out!

My only connection with anything remotely organized on rock and hill is that I did decide to tackle the Munros: I had in fact just reached a little over half way with my Munros when we emigrated to Norway and I haven’t completely given up the idea of finishing them completely one day. Even the ones I tackled were often attempted in a very come day go day fashion: it was more a means of being attracted into areas I might not otherwise have entered.

Any “conquests” have been purely personal. A long, hard day in the hills has been pleasurable for the hours spent in wild scenery and possibly wilder weather with CMC members, people I’ve felt comfortable with, whose judgement I trust and respect in difficult situations, and with whom I’ve relaxed later over a pint. My rock climbing, by today’s standards, has been extremely humble although in the early days, women climbers were still very much in the minority and I’ve received a fair dose of leg pulling and many strange remarks. I’ve led the odd VS and a few Severes but most of the time I’ve seconded. However, the highlights, to me, have been days such as the one on Dinas Mot, when I stood at the foot of Direct Route , my first long Welsh VS, and shivered in terror as I watched an International Party of climbers ready for their ascents on various routes. They all seemed to know what they were about. They were all clad in smart stretchy clothes and had chalk bags and confidence and I was still behind the times with thick breeches and sweaty hands. However, once my feet left terra firma all fear disappeared and on the last pitch I belayed, sat in the sun and chatted to other CMC members on a nearby route, content that I’d climbed the route well and enjoyed every moment.

My participation as a member of the CMC has, as for many others no doubt, altered over the years. In the early days of the Club I thrived on doing anything “en masse”. Climbing was rarely a quiet affair between leader and second, but more an invasion of one climb by as many people as possible. I remember vividly Browns Eliminate on Froggatt being peppered with struggling bodies mine being one , all being top roped at the same time. It became like a child’s puzzle, trying to trace back the rope to “which leader?” We even drove in convoy on away meets to Scotland! Safety in numbers? Would the natives attack us? Over the years I became more solitary and anti social in my forays into the hills, although I still enjoyed the getting together with Club members at the end of the day. And now well, not much chance of joining club meets very often from this distance, but I do have fantastic memories of past ones.

I would have liked to think that my five year old son Alisdair would have been able to grow up with the CMC. Alan and I took him onto Curbar Edge the very day he came out of the hospital where he was born and I said to him:

“This is air, these are rocks and that lump over there is Win Hill, I hope you’ll learn to love ‘em!”

We had taken him on several Club meets before, sadly, we had to leave the Sheffield area. However, those first impressions appear to have stuck and he is now knowledgeable on nature and accepts walking and the hills as a normal part of life.

Over the years, through the CMC, I’ve made some very good friends and now one of the greatest pleasures for Alan, Alisdair and myself is to welcome those friends here to Norway to enjoy our fantastic scenery and the many varied outdoor activities. Plus sharing a lot of nostalgia over the duty frees they bring!

Well, as I said at the beginning, my last visit to the clubroom was almost two years ago. There were many new faces but the atmosphere of a thriving and friendly CMC has little changed. I hope that all newer members and older ones alike can look back, like me, after twenty years of CMC membership and enjoy as many wonderful memories and as many good friends.