The Black Dog and The White Hare

This is something a bit new for me, a bit dark, and is probably shit, and I don't care. Read, think, and listen to the amazing "Creegan White Hare" (Video below). Big love to the fam and friends who have been amazing, and a special thanks to Chris for being up for the trip North (you're a legend x).

This is for you, Nana

~

We’re at a special little crag, trying a special little climb. Our collective momentum is insufficient to overthrow our doubt, so a rope is thrown down from above. Fingers strain and brows furrow.

“Where does it go here Ben?”
“Did Oli do this? Strong prick”
“Right take us there, I’ll work this out sooner or later”

A white tail flashes in the distance

It feels hard, but the puzzle is gradually solved. I feel like I'm moving well again, flowing rather than fumbling.

My phone buzzes, another call from Mum. I silence it, send it to the back of my mind. It’ll be about Nana, she’ll be okay. I tell myself I’ll call her later (I don’t). 

The black dog opens it’s eyes, and starts to stare at me.

“Was that your mum again? You need to speak to her you know”
“Shut up and get on with it" I reply, "this move’s easy”

He’s right though. The phone buzzes again, a rare text from my sister. She’s angry, Mum’s upset, and Nana is getting worse quickly. I make the call, book a train and head home. As the sea and the mountains turn into flat lands and pylons, my guilt is ever present. 

The black dog smiles, showing it's teeth.

Pulling on edges morphs into walking up hills. Work, clients, business, movement. I’m filling the void, throwing stuff between me and the inevitable. 

A long run of responsibility draws to a close, as Nana enters the endgame. 

I become a bubble on the tide of certainty. Picked up and thrown east, I land where my life began. Questions fly: how do we help her? How long has she got? Why?

The black dog starts to bark and howl.

The special little crag is far out of my mind, and at the front of my thoughts. I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to see this. I need to be here, I need to stay standing. I’d give anything to be chasing rock again. I'd give anything for her to be okay.

The black dog is running circles on me, it’s noise becoming deafening. 

A last breath and the sound of tears tell me all. Her light is lost.

The black dog pounces.

I trip and stumble; it turns into a sprint.

 Not sure of a destination, but sure of what I'm running from.

The black dog gives chase. 

“Are you sure you’re happy to go? It’s not exactly been long”
The run takes me North, to Orkney, to sea stacks, to anything. To distraction.

The black dog is still close behind, breath on my shoulder.

A white tail flashes in the distance.

Mixed forecast, mixed emotions, momentum lacking. After hours of deliberation we reach ‘fuck it’, and drive to Hoy.  We both silently pray for it to rain. To remove the pressure, to postpone the adventure, to make the unknown unknowable.

Should I be here? Shouldn't I be at home? What would Nana think?

I take shelter in the shadow of the forecast. 

"Let's get up and look but it'll be raining anyway"

I roll over in my sleeping bag to look at the window. 

Fucking sunshine, shit.

The white hare darts again, closer this time.

Process, logistics, trudging. We arrive at the stack. It’s huge, sandy, terrifying. Chris goes first.

The white hare sits atop the Old Man. 

The black dog is pacing the base, waiting for our demise. 

My turn. Jam, pull, bridge, breathe. The gear is good and the climbing is stunning. A choice presents itself. I play to my strengths, and eye up the holds on the face. 

“Watch us here, this could be spicy”

I lurch, head up and muscles firing, fully committed, left hand reaching for salvation. 

The black dog jumps for me, teeth bared.

I don’t notice.

The white hare stares down.

Catch the hold, rockover on the foot, place the cam. I let out a cry.

The black dog falls, and runs to the headland.

My run from the dog has shifted into a chase for the hare.

I start to dance. Onwards momentum is joy, not work. We swing up the remaining pitches, smiles replacing fear. I poke my head over the summit.

The white hare sees me, stops a moment, and then departs.

Summit hugs, selfies, and sunshine. Chris writes his entry in the logbook at the top, and reads me all the entries he knows I’ll enjoy. The pen feels uncomfortable in my hand. I scribble in a message, and finish by dedicating it to my Nana.

The black dog is on the hillside. It looks over it’s shoulder, and sees me, and then departs.

The trip continues. Stacks climbed, tea drunk, ferries boarded. 

I’m not one to say this, but it felt like Nana brought the sunshine that day. She occupies my mind for the rest of the trip. I know she’d want me to have these adventures, to see places wild and have experiences most intense, with people of passion. 

I make a plan. To gather my crew, and chase that white hare. Whenever the black dog snarls, I’ll run after that dashing white tail.

The funeral comes around, and I’m surrounded by those who know. They know how special she was, the light that shone through her, and the fierce love she wielded. Hugs, tears, and stories flow.  

The black dog is in a cage that day. Bark it may, but chase it may not.


A white tail flashes in the distance.

Nana being a fashion icon at Cal's wedding

Chris and I after having mounted an Old Man