Climbing Ramabang (eBook)

One Irish climber's explorations in the Himalaya and his overland trip home

Gerry Galligan (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2013 | 1. Auflage
300 Seiten
Vertebrate Digital (Verlag)
978-1-909461-04-8 (ISBN)

Infos

Gerry Galligan's first book is a bold and expansive travel diary recounting his assembling of a small team of Irish mountaineers and their attempts on unclimbed mountains and unexplored valleys in the remote corners of the Indian Himalaya. Getting there, the team see the hardships of the sub-continent, while in the mountains they experience storms, dangers and failure before ultimately, success and contentment. But it is when Gerry returns to the mountains alone and his subsequent experiences overlanding across Asia and Europe back to Ireland that we start to get a glimpse of the big, wide world out there. A world of temples, festivals, holy cows, Kalashnikovs, donkey herders, corruption, opportunists, stoners and sages. Gerry gives us an insight into the day-to-day lives of mountain peoples, the dysfunctional functionality of India. He finds charm and tolerance in Pakistan and a surprising openness in today's Iran. We travel across rural Turkey and work our way back to the efficient and affluent West, where right on cue Gerry meets his first breakdown on a German train. Climbing Ramabang; One man's understanding of mountains, myth and mayhem.

Textauszug

One

An Itch and a Plan

I could blame Roger McMorrow. It was his expedition that planted the seed of an idea in my head several years ago. He and his girlfriend Sara Spencer and two of their friends, all climbers, went to Garhwal in the Indian Himalaya in 2002 with the aim of making the first ascent of an unclimbed six-thousand metre peak. They succeeded and their mountain became known as Draíocht Paravat — Magic Mountain. To make the first ascent of a Himalayan mountain was a dream they had harboured for years. When I saw their photographs of vast glacial valleys and magnificent white summits, that same dream rubbed off on me. What a great thing it must be to venture to places in the world where no one has been. To be first to set foot on high untouched ground; to have the privilege of exploring unknown valleys and experience views not seen. To pioneer. What Roger and Sara did was special and I could think of nothing more alluring. So I swore to myself I would attempt something similar, somewhere in the Himalaya.

Adventure has never been far from my mind. I was born lucky, into a good home, the only son and the youngest in a family of six. My father was an engineer. He was a remarkable man, practical, fair-minded and devoted to his family. He was also mentally and physically strong, and had an interest in travel and adventure. As a young man after the Second World War he served with the British Royal Marines. Engineering as a career interested him. But the RM wouldn’t make a provision for this so, dissatisfied, he left the military and joined the Electricity Supply Board at home. A successful career followed where he worked in various power stations around Ireland. Consequently, as a family we moved every few years: to places like Donegal, Offaly, Kerry and eventually settling in Wicklow. When he could, my father took up foreign assignments; serving on power projects in Bahrain in the 1970s and Bhutan in the ’80s. I remember postcards of camels and Bedouins in the desert and Buddhist monasteries hanging precariously to cliff faces. And I remember the descriptions and stories he told us: of wealthy Sheiks and opulent life-styles; of Sharia law and grisly scenes of public justice; of cold, desolate Christmas days spent in the Himalaya on meagre rations — butter tea, hard-boiled eggs and Mars bars. I have no doubt that were it not for the demands of a growing family and his sense of commitment to us, he would have pursued an even more adventurous career.

I can say my father’s curiosity and adventurous inclination rubbed off on me. I had a happy childhood, mixing easily with others my own age, playing football and soldiers in the streets and fields. My earliest memory as an infant in the late ’60s, is of being rowed out to Gola Island, Donegal in a currach on a bright summer’s day. I can still see it; the lapping of the waves on the black hull, the oarsman’s blue woollen jumper, his white knuckles and black sideburns, and the family singing Báidín Fheilimí. Years later I would be drawn back to Gola as a rock climber. This time with a different family of friends, and all of us excited by the sea cliffs of that magical place.

As a child my first experiences of mountains came from my father’s personal accounts of being snow bound on Turlough Hill in the Wicklow Mountains for days, and of drifts so high a man could step over telegraph poles as if they were fence posts. Many Sundays outside the winter months were spent visiting my aunt’s cottage in the remote Corriebracks. I loved it there, rambling in the bogs and marshes, looking out for deer, stoat and other fauna. I savoured the fresh air and quietness, the smells of the earth and the different colours and moods. Often the evenings brought out midges which forced us indoors. The cottage had no electricity. As the evenings grew dark we would make tea on a gas stove and crowd around the fire listing to crackling John McCormack records on a vintage gramophone. Late into the night we would pile into the Volkswagen estate and head back over the Wicklow Gap home. I would lie in the back looking up at the stars, thinking about the events of the day and wishing for the journey never to end.

Primary schooling was enjoyable enough — a good mixture of lessons and sports. Secondary school, less so. I had academic ability, but little interest in testing myself or achieving much. At fifteen I couldn’t take schoolwork seriously. My parents grew concerned as exam results deteriorated. A change was needed. At sixteen I left day school and went to boarding school at Castleknock. The cultural difference between the two was staggering. The former made up of working and middle class boys like myself, the latter a club of privileged rich boys, many of them spoiled, with heads full of ego and ambition. The move didn’t change me. I remained an academic under-achiever. Moreover I felt I didn’t belong. These rich kids weren’t my kind of people. I considered myself left wing, and I still do, but here I was in a minority, outnumbered by precocious young capitalists. The school was all right. It had a swimming pool, sports pitches and a snooker room, while the food, though questionable in quality, was plentiful. However boarding school felt more like an internment camp than a place of learning. Freedom was curtailed and the daily routine was driven by bells. A walk to the village shop was forbidden and a half-day out to see family required a parental letter and the permission of the President. The confined living conditions didn’t help either. There was a lack of personal space. As a result, it was difficult for anyone to relax. As an institution, it was easy for me to reject it. During class-time I often found myself staring out the window, dreaming of liberation and adventures to far-flung places, reading books about adventure and escape. I counted the days left. I am of the view now as I was then, that boarding schools are archaic unnatural environments for any child or teenager to be placed in, away from society, family and friends. They should all be done away with. Time passed, I scraped some qualifications and left the place, thankfully with most of my sanity.

At eighteen I had no career ambition and little appetite for further education. All I wanted to do was be a loafer, wandering around seeing the world. Not that I could have remained at home. Ireland in the 1980s was a bleak place for many young people. A time of economic stagnation, with no jobs, no money circulating and few prospects of a decent future. Going away was the best option. But some skills were needed before leaving. After some parental pressure I did a two-year engineering course at a technical college, following somewhat in my father’s footsteps. Then a six-month welding course. After that I went to Australia and spent two and a half years in Sydney, working a variety of jobs: as an estimator, a design-draughtsman, a welder and a sheetmetal worker. Holidays were spent hitch-hiking around the country, up and down the east coast and across to the west. I met all kinds of characters, at work and on the road, and had great craic.

With a visa long expired, I returned home for a few weeks. Then I went to London and got a job on the railways, fixing trains on the overground Brighton to Bedford line. More enjoyment was had here, fraternising with railway headbangers. A rail trip around Europe followed this, roughing it from Paris to Athens. Then I went to America and travelled coast to coast on Greyhounds. Finally in San Francisco I tried to settle down. I came up with a five-year plan. The aim was to work hard and save enough money to return home and set up a business. No particular business, just something that would allow me to be my own boss. But like a lot of great plans, it came to nought.It was 1990, the first Gulf war was raging and the American economy nose-dived. Jobs were hard to come by. I moved from one low-paying job to another: security guard, crab seller, postal worker, to finally a dishwasher in a flophouse. Dispirited, after eighteen months I gave up and went home.

Life wasn’t easy at home. There was still a recession and I spent many months on the dole. Changes were afoot. I had lost my desire to wander. What’s more, my rough life-style had caught up with me. A new focus and direction was needed. I gave up booze and soft drugs.

The early 1990s saw a burgeoning computer industry. IT became one of the few areas that seemed to offer quality jobs and opportunities. I did a nine-month computer course and learned all about coding and networking. This led to a one-year contract with a bank as a systems administrator. Since then I have remained in the IT industry, working at various jobs in different companies around Dublin and have developed a reasonably successful career. Outside work, I took up running and circuit training for fitness. This led to an interest in adventure sport. I dabbled in sailing for a while, crewing for work mates in Dublin Bay races and dinghy sailing in Dun Laoghaire and off the west coast. Then one summer morning in 2000, while on a sailing week in Mayo, the weather was particularly calm. Not wishing to waste the day, a group of us decided to walk up the hill of Croagh Patrick. We were rewarded with a marvelous view from the summit looking out over Clew Bay and this inspired me to do more. Returning to Dublin I joined Glenans Hillwalking Club. Before I knew it, I was exploring the hills around Ireland, Scotland and Wales. From then on my interest in the mountains developed. I progressed to scrambling and then rock, ice and alpine climbing. Sailing fell by the wayside. The mountains won me over.

I had been hankering for a big adventure for years. The ones I had in my twenties were borne partly out of curiosity...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.7.2013
• Verlagsort: London
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Themenwelt: Sachbuch/Ratgeber ► Sport
• Themenwelt: Reisen ► Reiseberichte
• Themenwelt: Naturwissenschaften ► Geowissenschaften ► Geografie / Kartografie
• ISBN-10: 1-909461-04-0 / 1909461040
• ISBN-13: 978-1-909461-04-8 / 9781909461048