Mountain poem

The Cioch is a massive rock pinnacle which juts out from a slab of rough gabbro on the face of the Sron na Ciche in the Cuillin of Skye. Jane and I climbed it in 1963, but it wasn't until 1997 that I wrote the following poem. It's the first poem in my second collection - Seven Senses - published by Diehard in 2000, and it has been out of print for some years. I've written many mountain poems over the years, but these days I mostly restrict myself to hill walking, rather than rock climbing. The exposure walking up the slab is quite terrifying, as is the final push to the top of the pinnacle.

A’ Chioch

You are free, if you are brave, to stand up
on this steep rough rock.
Hands are not needed
except for reassurance.
This slab is so sound
you could run up, unroped,
facing in, looking up.

But back, behind,
there’s air below;
a thousand feet
until you’d hit
the crags and boulders -
and you’re no cartoon coyote.

The wee lochan’s a blue eye, open,
on the bog’s distant map,
and all the peaty tracks you struggled up
are little brown scratches.

You turn again to what’s afoot,
release locked fingers, look up,
and take the next few steps,
and the rope that stops you falling
is the one that pulls you on
into danger, into further fear.

At the deepest level,
where it hurts to tell,
every climb’s a first
and last
ascent.


Copyright  © Colin Will 2000