Despite the escalating evidence of a hoax, dawn saw us combing the gullies and crags and this went on until late evening. Everyone was shattered. We had used the two helicopters most of the day. Some volunteer climbers who had assisted the team since first light couldn’t be contacted as they didn’t have walkie-talkies and were even later in returning to base, despite the fact that we fired pre-arranged signal rockets to inform them of the stand down. They then faced a drive back to their homes in Glasgow, Edinburgh and even to south of the border.
A scaled down search was conducted the following day by one of the RAF teams and a few Glencoe members, but this was abandoned at 1.00 pm when nothing further showed up. It was later estimated that the cost to the taxpayer for the two helicopters alone was £43,765, and of course there was well over a thousand man-hours clocked up by the rescuers. We had no alternative but to scale down search operations. The case of the bogus naval Commander was put on a back burner; there were real human beings to rescue.
A report in the national newspapers was to shed light on the mystery. The Commander’s eventual detection and arrest had a Gilbertian quality to it. After broadcasting the hoax message he had hot-footed it to nearby Fort William. But, let us go back twenty-four hours, the day after the hoax call-out, 18 April, when the Commander and an Army sergeant met at the Glen Nevis campsite near Fort William.
The genuine military man was Sergeant Thomas McKay, the Edinburgh District gunner, who fires the one o’clock Castle gun and is known to thousands of tourists the world over as Tam the Gun. The Sergeant was awaiting the arrival of a party of officer cadets from Heriot Watt University in Edinburgh who had been hiking the full length of the West Highland Way, a long-distance leg-stretcher which runs from Glasgow to Fort William.
The Commander drove into the campsite in a staff car which had the words Royal Navy emblazoned on the sides in white lettering. The Sergeant noted that the vehicle had official naval number plates. There were in fact two men in the car, the Commander who introduced himself as Mark, and his companion, a Belgian naval officer on attachment to the Royal Navy. Tom invited them for a cup of tea, adding that he was awaiting the arrival of the cadets and that they would be going to a pub later. The Commander asked if he could join them, saying that he was expecting a party of naval ratings from HMS Drake the next day; they were going to take part in an exercise on Ben Nevis.
In due course Tom’s officer cadets arrived, glad that their five-day hike was at an end, and after grabbing some food, they all adjourned to the Argyll pub in Fort William. It appears to have been a happy evening; in the words of the Immortal Bard, “Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely”. The cadets after their route march had perhaps more pints than caution dictates.
Tom, who returned to camp a short time later, was taken aback to see Mark with the cadets on parade, bollocking them for their exuberant behaviour. Tom made it clear to him that he was the senior member of his group and that Mark had no right to speak to the cadets in that manner. Mark took the rebuke calmly and apologised.
Next morning Tom discovered that the Belgian had left. Mark said he had gone to meet up with the naval party. Before he hit the road, Tom said that if Mark was ever down in Edinburgh to look him up at the Castle and he’d show him round. On the A82 south the Army party passed two Royal Navy four-ton trucks which they assumed were Mark’s group heading for Ben Nevis.
The following Tuesday Tom was back in Edinburgh and was driving down Castle Street when he saw Mark again – he was conspicuous, still wearing combat trousers and a naval pullover. They greeted each other and Mark told the Sergeant that he was shopping for new boots. Before they parted, Tom invited him to his house that night for dinner.
After the meal Tom asked his wife to put on a video he had recently bought on the Falklands War. Mark had previously mentioned that he had served in the campaign. As they watched the tape, Mark said that he was on the ship when the film was being shot and to look out for the officer who would start to cry. He appeared to have a detailed knowledge of the film. This more than anything diminished any lingering doubts that Tom had of the Commander. Mark refused the offer of a bed and opted to camp on Castlelaw Ranges on the edge of the city. He said he liked to bivvy, but promised next day to go on a tour of Edinburgh Castle with Tom. He also asked where the nearest barracks was as he required petrol. The Sergeant saw various items of equipment inside Mark’s car, including walkie-talkies.
Next day they met up as arranged at the Castle drawbridge. Mark rebuked the sentry on duty as they entered, asking him why he didn’t salute an officer of the Royal Navy. He was then given a tour of the historical artefacts in that famous fortress that has been sacked by both Edward I and Robert Bruce. But Tom was puzzled when they were looking at a Second World War naval officer’s cap and Mark commented that the crown on the badge was now different. Tom knew, as Mark should have known, that the crown on cap badges changes with the reigning monarch. This was a bit odd, Tom thought. His doubts were shortly to be substantiated.
Mark had a free lunch in the officers’ mess and afterwards had the temerity to complain to the mess steward as to the quality of the food! He was lucky that he wasn’t shown the same hospitality as guests at the infamous Black Dinner of 1440 when the Douglas heir and his brother were hauled from the table in front of King James II, and beheaded.
Later, leaving Mark at the gunners’ hut, Tom went to collect his mail at Brigade Headquarters. He glanced at a copy of the Daily Record and saw an article on the mountain rescue hoax in Glencoe – the police were appealing for information on the naval perpetrator. In a flash he realised that the description of the bogus naval Commander fitted Mark precisely.
The Sergeant reported the situation to the Royal Military Police stationed in the Castle who went to the gunners’ hut and asked Mark for his ID. He produced this and they then took him to an interview room.
After a short time he went back to the gunners’ hut, to which Tom had returned, and asked what was going on. “It’s just routine for all non-tourists,” Tom told him. “Your staff car attracted attention. After all, the Castle is a military base.”
As they were chatting the phone rang. Tom picked it up; it was the Special Investigation Branch. They wanted Mark back at the interview room. They also told the Sergeant that Mark’s staff car had been blocked off on the esplanade by a military police car to prevent him making a get-away. One of the SIB officers who had served with the Royal Navy had noticed that Mark’s ID card was the wrong shade of blue. Mark was arrested.
During interrogation regarding an alleged hoax call-out of mountain rescue teams in Glencoe, Mark made references to the IRA and the Prevention of Terrorism Act was invoked. We knew nothing of these goings on in the backwoods of Glencoe, nor did the public at large and it was only when the case came to court that the story began to unravel. Mark came up for trial at the High Court in Inverness at the end of July 1987, presided over by Judge Lord MacDonald. I was cited to attend to give evidence with several team members.
During the trial a can of worms was revealed to the public. When Mark’s car was found parked on the busy Castle Esplanade it was suspected that it could have a bomb on board, but none was found. It was also alleged that at various places in Scotland, including at Fort William on the Glen Nevis road, he was recruited by the IRA to enter military establishments disguised as a naval officer; that caches of arms and explosives were buried in North Wales, the Lake District, Redford Ranges, Edinburgh, and in a wood near Fort William for use against military bases. He denied all this and further denied that in pursuance of terrorist activities he and Benjamin Claus gained entry to Redford Barracks and Dreghorn Camp, Edinburgh, in disguise, to put to the test an identification card and disguised vehicle, and stole a quantity of paper. He was also standing trial on two fraud charges; three charges of theft; using false naval number plates on a car; a contravention of the Uniforms Act by wearing a naval uniform (which he had got at a jumble sale) to which he was not entitl
ed. He also denied calling out the Glencoe Mountain Rescue Team and other rescue agencies.
After a trial which lasted six days the verdict was summed up: “The twenty-nine-year-old accused was convicted of public mischief by broadcasting an Easter weekend distress message that he was a naval commander and that one of his men was lying injured in the hills. As a result two helicopters and a hundred men carried out a search over two days.”
Mark was also convicted of pretending to military and civil police who arrested him for the hoax that he was a member of the IRA and knew where explosives were buried. This caused the police and bomb disposal squad to waste time and public money in fruitless searches. And he was found guilty of stealing six walkie-talkies from a rescue centre in North Wales.
The court heard that on nine occasions, dating back to 1973, Mark had twenty-eight convictions for dishonesty, deception and fraud. In 1982, he was sentenced to six years imprisonment, being released only the previous October. Lord MacDonald went on to add: “Notwithstanding what has been said on your behalf and in the reports and letters, I am clearly of the view that you were perfectly sane and fit to plead and knew what you were doing. You have committed offences of such gravity that they merit very severe treatment indeed.”
Mark was sentenced to six years.
As I mentioned at the start of this chapter, not all rescues are tragic – or false alarms! Let’s return to sunshine and underpants . . .
I think that I had had a glass of home brewed silver birch wine before turning in the night before the Sunday morning I received the call from the police about a missing man in Glen Etive. That may have been the reason for the brief delay in answering the telephone; after all it was 3.00 am.
The desk sergeant in Fort William was on the line and told me that a short time before a group of climbers had returned to Glen Etive in their old van after a sortie to the Clachaig Inn, where they had attempted to allay their drooth (thirst) with a few pints of natural ale. It had been a scorching day. The midges of Glen Etive were waiting in ambush.
They had unrolled their sleeping bags on the floor of the van and settled in for the night. The trouble with beer is that it later has to be disposed of, often at inopportune moments, and one of the party, a twenty-five-year-old janitor from Edinburgh (whom I will call Dave) was on his first visit to the mountains. He had to relieve himself at about 2.00 am. It was cold, the heavens alive with a myriad of stars, as they often are when a large area of high pressure anchors itself over the Highlands. The only other place I’ve seen such stunning clarity in the heavens has been in desert regions.
Nearby the River Etive was glinting in the moonlight. Dave was dressed only in his underpants. When he didn’t return after what seemed ages, one of the girls sleepily looked out but couldn’t see any sign of him. She thought he must be having an inordinately long pee but she awakened the others.
They searched the general area pretty thoroughly, calling out for him and also checking the nearby bank of the Etive, but there was no sign. This far north it doesn’t really get dark at this time of year and they would certainly have spotted him had he been sitting somewhere, but they realised that it would be easy to miss someone lying amongst the heather or rocks. It was then that they drove up to Kingshouse Hotel, which is on the fringe of the Moor of Rannoch, and contacted the police. Hence my wake-up call.
When we arrived at the lay-by where their van was now re-parked we questioned them about their missing friend, but they just couldn’t shed any further light on the incident. We then started a more detailed search of the general area, deciding (wrongly) that the missing man wouldn’t get far without boots or clothing, for the pre-dawn air had a cold bite to it. Also the Glencoe terrain isn’t conducive to walking barefoot, other than on the main highway. Above, to the west, the massive bulk of Buachaille Etive Mor dominated the lightening sky and on a hillock a short distance away I could see the outline of a stag, like a cardboard cut-out, still as the rock above it.
After combing the area thoroughly, we returned to the van and questioned the climbers once more. Apparently, the previous day Dave had been abstractly throwing stones into pools in the river. Some of these are deep and when the river is in spate they can be dangerous. Now it was tranquil, like quicksilver in the half-light of dawn, but we knew that some of the pools were over ten metres deep. Ruling out any long-distance barefoot hike on Dave’s part, we opted to search the river thoroughly.
Midges like their breakfast as soon as it warms up and a naked man would represent a midge’s conception of paradise. We didn’t think that he would have taken to the A82, as there’s no civilisation to speak of for about twelve miles. His friends had already checked that he hadn’t gone to Kingshouse Hotel. Also none of the police or our team en route to Glen Etive had seen any white-skinned apparition on the road. But just in case he had opted to walk down the narrow single dead end track which masquerades as the Glen Etive road, I asked Willie Elliot to take his National Trust van down the glen just to make sure. We all agreed, for the moment, that we would concentrate on the river and, as several team members were professional divers, they went off to collect their dry suits and air bottles.
By now it was daylight and the sun squeezed up over the edge of the Moor of Rannoch like a great fresh custard pie. I reflected that serious accidents don’t come on sun-drenched days, but usually with bad weather. The odds are stacked against the victim then. Big storms and avalanches are accessories for nature’s misdeeds; but not today I thought. This could be a falling off day, not an exposure one. The water had a hypnotic effect – possibly as it had on Dave the day before? The rocky pools have been meticulously gouged out of the red rock by the great ice cap thousands of feet thick which had covered the Moor of Rannoch aeons before, and since the great thaw the rhyolite has been assiduously polished by the water of Etive.
There was almost a holiday atmosphere about the call-out. John and Richard Grieve, two divers in the team, had only to look beneath the surface of the water to see right down to the perfectly formed spherical stones on the river bed. They would have spotted a one pence piece on the bottom, such was the clarity.
All good things come to an end; the section of river was given a going over in an hour or so. The net was now about to spread as back-up rescue teams arrived from various corners of the country, also Search and Rescue Dogs, an RAF Sea King and a Wessex helicopter. There were over seventy rescuers already assembled and I’m sure that we all felt that this was better than felling trees, diving for scallops, cleaning the toilets of B&B guest houses or, in the case of the law, booking speeding motorists.
We had already set up base and the area was divided into search blocks, over a wide sweep, taking in the whole of Buachaille Etive Mor, which comprises three mountains on a humped-back ridge of some three miles, forming on our side the easterly flank of the Buachaille.
We reconsidered an earlier discarded theory that Dave could have walked up to the A82 and there hitched a lift, perhaps concocting a story that his clothes had been stolen. But it was most unlikely that anyone would have stopped to pick him up in the middle of the night. It’s difficult enough to get a lift in broad daylight when reasonably dressed, such is the mistrust of modern society. I did however suggest the police enlist the help of the BBC with an appeal for information on their news bulletins. After all, I argued, he wouldn’t be easily forgotten by a passing or charitable motorist. “Would any driver who saw a man wearing only underpants on the Glencoe section of the A82 last night please contact their nearest police station . . .”
But the diced caps at Police HQ must have thought it too frivolous for a Monday morning. It’s true there can be embarrassing circumstances in making appeals or even enquiries as to the whereabouts of allegedly missing climbers, particularly when one assumes one is dealing with a married couple and finds the wife answers the home phone!
Meanwhile the search for Dave had really got into swing and within an hour or so the helicopters, working on a grid se
arch, had covered the large expanse of the east face of the mountain. But there were dozens of gulches and crannies where someone could remain undetected. On the positive side, reports started to pour in for, being such a brilliant day, the hills were alive with the crunch of boots. The rescue team members questioned these climbers. One report by radio to base stated that a party had seen a solitary figure high above them very early in the morning. They were climbing the wide angled gully, Coire na Tulaich, which is the tourist’s highway to the summit of Sgurr Dearg, the first and most dominant peak of the Buachaille Etive Mor massif. They said that the man didn’t appear to have much clothing on, but they hadn’t thought this odd for already, even on the north side of the mountain, it had been rapidly getting warmer.
If this indeed was Dave it seemed remarkable, for to get to Coire na Tulaich from where the van was parked in Glen Etive meant a hike up to the A82 and along this westwards to gain access to the corrie. His alternative would have been to cut round the rugged base of the mountain, thereby avoiding the roads, then, without footwear, climb the long escalator of the corrie with its flint-like scree which would have tested the soles of a fire-walker. It seemed a way out possibility when he had a perfectly good pair of boots back at the van!
Those at base were now soaking in some sunshine and enjoying a brew of tea. The helicopters had gone off to refuel and were now back parked close by the road. They had had no luck as there were so many people on the mountain, including by this time over a hundred rescuers, most wearing the bare minimum of clothing, so looking just like the elusive Dave! It was difficult to differentiate one specifically scantily clad individual from another. It was obviously now a job for the more personal touch of ground parties.
I had been pondering for some time how Dave managed to traverse round Buachaille Etive Mor, then ascend Coire na Tulaich on his bare feet. And according to the latest radio report relayed from the summit of the Buachaille, he had been spotted on top of this mountain at dawn.
The Mammoth Book of Mountain Disasters Page 44