OK. I want to say something, and I hope it's OK to post this; it isn't the usual painting everything perfect, and it isn't meant to be.
Alison was a very honest person, and she deserves to be remembered honestly. She was not a close friend, but she was a friend, and I'm going to pay her that respect.
I got to know her when we were both members of the Ochils Mountaineering Club, based in Stirling. She was a regular on club meets and other events, always looking to team up for a day on the hills, and I shared many of those with her.
She was also not afraid to go out on her own, when that was what she needed to do to get to her objective, and she clocked up a huge number of solo hill days. She was also not afraid of suffering to get to her goal, and would happily head out in the most miserable of weather, or return from a peaty hill soaking and covered in mud.
She was not someone who formed social connections easily, and could sometimes be difficult company, but her obvious love of what she was doing, and her desire to share her enthusiasm for it, often made her pleasant company on the hill. Whilst awkward in person, she had something of a gift for writing, and that's how she best communicated her joy and love of the outdoors.
I think the thing is, it was not so much that she wanted to get out to the hills, or to tick off the hill lists, as that she had a burning need to do so.
Those who knew her fairly well will know that, in addition to having fairly severe visual impairment, she was also prone to mishap, and would routinely allow her need to get to her objective to overrule what might be the more sensible course of action. This led her to get into situations where she required assistance, more than once.
It would be easy to say that she had poor judgement, but I think it may simply have been that, by her own internal risk/benefit analysis, these were simply things that she needed to do, as she -had- to get out, to get up that hill, and it wasn't always easy.
I don't know, but it may be that Alison had asked someone to accompany her on Dumyat on Thursday, and that person is now feeling very guilty.
If so, please don't be hard on yourself. We all have to make judgements on the safety, or desirability, of days on the hill. If you thought it unsafe to head out, you were right; if you just didn't want to do it, that was entirely reasonable. Alison was going to do what Alison was going to do, and you couldn't always be there.
I once had to tell Alison that she couldn't come with me and another companion, on a winter's day, in extreme weather. I had a plan, knew our abilities, and was ready to turn back if required (which, as it happened, it was). On our return, we discovered that Alison had headed out on her own instead, and had needed rescued.
She asked me afterwards, "who will walk with me now?"
I told her that of course I was still happy to walk with her, just on the right hill and the right day, and promised to do so soon. I haven't seen her since, and we won't be having that walk, now.
Here's to you, Alison. You were a tough, determined wee thing who knew what you loved, and took every chance to do it.
I hope it was worth it; I think it probably was.
