Andrew Cotter
Unfailingly trusting, Olive is one enthusiatic canine that beats all other hillwalking companions, and makes the mountains just that bit more special.
takes a break from covering BBC sports extravaganzas to share his love of hillwalking with his faithful climbing partner – his dog. Twitter @MrAndrewCotter
I stood beside my walking partner, contemplating the problem ahead. The ground steepened and then the path simply disappeared, ending at the foot of several giant, crampon-scratched slabs of cold stone. It was good rock – sticky granite – but the recent rain had left it dark and glistening.
“Probably a bit beyond you, this route,” I said to her. “But there has to be a path around it if we just drop down to the side. We’ll give that a go.”
She stared at me thoughtfully, as if considering my suggestion, then returned to eating the deer droppings she had recently found. And so it goes on like this, my life as a hillwalker. Because more often than not I wander the mountains and hills of this country with my black Labrador, Olive.
I’ve tried many different ways of hillwalking. As a solitary pursuit, alone with nature and my thoughts. As a group of friends sharing stories and the experience. Or with a small, furry creature who doesn’t really do conversation and requires little more than a mountain stream to lap from and an occasional M&S mini sausage. Give me just one of these combinations and I will take the one with my dog. There is something which simply feels right about it.
Of course, being a Labrador she is one of life’s great optimists.
My love of the mountains is, as I imagine it is for most people, something that you can’t quite explain. As well as the obvious scenery there is a sort of primal connection to nature and the wilderness. Throw in a dog – faithful companion to humans for over 10,000 years – and it’s even better.
I know that sometimes human company is great, even very necessary. The history of mountaineering is littered with great partnerships: Shipton and Tilman, Haston and Scott, Lachenal and Terray, and so on. Each will have thrived on the relationship between the two. A human-canine partnership is just something very different... unless Tenzing Norgay had to coax Edmund Hillary along when the going got tough with a gravy bone and a soothing scratch behind the ear.
Not all dogs are suited to hillwalking, though. They are, after all, a remarkably varied species and choosing the right breed is important. My mother’s dog, a 66kg Bullmastiff, is about as likely to climb a hill as he is to fly to the moon. At the other end of the size scale, Dachshunds would give it their very best shot for a while – but they exist in an world where the slightest incline in your local park is Kilimanjaro.
Other breeds are seemingly made for the pastime. Border Collies will walk, or run, all day on all sorts of terrain and very possibly have the level of intelligence to understand basic grid references. Likewise, Working Cocker Spaniels have a boundless energy that ensures they can climb a mountain around five times, mocking your plodding pace as you haul your tired body up the tourist path.
Where all dogs struggle, though, is in their lack of opposable thumbs, which has cruelly held them back on several fronts over the centuries. This means the sort of terrain many of us relish – scrambling over rocky outcrops – is beyond them, so routes have to be chosen with care. There are, however, ways around such difficulties. I have seen, on the Forcan Ridge in the Western Highlands, a Jack Russell wearing a coat with a handle attached to it. He was being carefully – and with no real dignity on his part – lifted, little legs still pumping away in mid-air, over any problematic move in his path. I have even witnessed a large dog in a harness being hauled up on a reasonably complicated rope system. The effort that went into it had cost the party a good 30 minutes, but they clearly believed it was worth it to have their four-pawed friend along. Yet there are drawbacks. There is great responsibility with leading your dog into the hills. Because you are the expedition leader. My dog is unfailingly trusting and, dare I say, dim enough to do exactly as I ask her. I once waved my hand in the wrong direction when encouraging her up a gap between rocks and she gamely tried to free-solo a move which was probably graded V. Diff.
You must also be aware of any other wildlife around, or likely to be. Where there are sheep, your dog must be on a lead. Likewise deer. Olive’s excitement at seeing a ptarmigan for the first time, exploding in a flapping white puff from the snow, was something to behold!
That duty of care extends to the conditions as well. In particular, if you are fond of taking your dog up when the hills are in their full winter finery. We may well be clad entirely in the latest expensive items of clothing and can add or remove layers at our leisure, and
Labradors have very efficient natural coats, but I will still put a man-made version on my assistant if the wind chill gets below minus 10.
And since dogs can’t talk, you need to keep an eye out for any signs of distress. One climb with Olive was on Bynack More in the Cairngorms, through deep, unconsolidated snow and, as we neared the summit, high winds were whipping up vicious spindrift over the broad ridge. I don’t speak fluent dog, but she let out a howl and tried to dig herself a snowhole in which I guessed that she might wish to expire. So we turned round, 80 feet from the summit. However, the benefits of taking your dog out hillwalking with you can far outweigh the potential problems. I see in my dog, as many people probably do with theirs, the sheer joy that they get from being out in the hills. It is the same joy that we experience, but seemingly multiplied tenfold. Of course, being a Labrador, Olive is one of life’s great optimists
anyway, and would no doubt express a high level of contentment at a trip through an underpass in Croydon. But her enthusiasm when out in the wild is a reminder of why we do it ourselves.
I have had so many wonderful days in the mountains. Unforgettable days on Tower Ridge, Buachaille Etive Mor or Suilven (after which my first dog was named), but few can compare with Olive’s debut winter climb in the Black Mount and the moment when she hit the snowline for the first time. The delirious state she entered was as if she had discovered something quite remarkable and wanted to share the news with the world. That is essentially all of us when we walk the hills, but with an unfettered happiness that only dogs can demonstrate.
Later, as we sat later at the summit of Stob a’ Choire Odhair, looking out over the frozen expanse of Rannoch Moor in the winter sunlight, I liked to think that she was soaking it all in with me. In truth she was probably wondering where her next snack was coming from. But it was still something very special.
So yes, in many ways my dog falls short as a mountaineering sidekick. She can’t carry a camera, or any food or water. Her belaying skills still leave a lot to be desired. But in every other aspect she is the perfect companion. Andrew Cotter is a BBC Sports broadcaster and writer. More about him at www.andrewcotter.co.uk