Wordsmith
the man with the worlds ’ best job
Kev Reynolds remembers the day his dad saw the light...
‘I
don’t know what you see in mountains,’
said my dad in exasperation. ‘You’ve seen
one, you’ve seen them all!’
A typical comment from someone who’d never
set eyes on a mountain and whose only ‘abroad’
came after he’d landed on a Normandy beach
on D-Day in World War II. That experience –
and the months that followed – had wiped any
sense of enquiry from him, and now he was
exasperated because I’d just told him I was
leaving what he considered a steady job with
good pension prospects, in favour of a winter’s
work in the Alps. But I’d be wasting my breath
if I tried to explain the dramatic beauty of the
world’s high places, or the call to adventure that
invades sleep and becomes a daylight challenge.
I had no words to describe the thrill of breasting
a lofty pass to discover a whole new world spread
before me waiting to be explored, nor the starlit
magic of a bivouac above the clouds. In any case,
Dad was deaf to such woolly romanticising. It
had no place in his reality.
To our girls, wet tents, winding trails and
simple meals cooked on a little Camping Gaz
were normal
Fast forward twelve years…
I was now married with two young children,
and working in a job I believed in. It didn’t pay
much, but we managed to save enough for an
annual fortnight in the Alps or Pyrenees, for
Min and I had indoctrinated our daughters to
mountain life long before their first birthdays,
and they were used to what my parents
considered ‘roughing it’. To our girls, wet
tents, winding trails and simple meals cooked
on a little Camping Gaz were normal. As for my
relationship with Dad, well, although he still
doubted my sanity, family life had softened the
rough edges between us. He and Mum thought
the world of our girls and they adored their
grandparents in return. Perhaps there was hope
for me after all.
Taking a risk we planned a holiday together.
We’d hire a small camper van for the oldies to
sleep in, while we would use our tent. It would
be our way of introducing them to an ‘abroad’
outside their own very limited experience. So
with a certain trepidation they ordered their
first-ever passports, and left the rest for me
to organise. After all, I was the only one with a
driving licence, and knew where we were going.
After speeding across northern France as
fast as the Dormobile would carry us, we then
dawdled over the Jura to gain a hazy view of
the Alps ahead. The Alps at last; faint in the
distance and with no clear detail, but the Alps
nonetheless. Min and I were coming home.
Down we drifted through cuckoo clock
villages, chuntered alongside lakes and over an
easy pass from which the unmistakable Eiger,
Mönch and Jungfrau could be seen floating on a
skein of mist. We’d just had our lunch and the
oldies were snoozing in the back while I clutched
the steering wheel and grinned from ear to ear.
Min and the girls shared my excitement. But the
oldies were in worlds of their own.
Little did I realise then that I’d be back many
more times in the years ahead – researching
routes for Walking in the Bernese Oberland
We found a pitch in one of the huge
Lauterbrunnen campsites. By then clouds
were down and rain washed the dust from the
camper van as evening closed in. The girls were
undeterred by the weather. It always rains on
mountain holidays. Doesn’t it? But while he
enjoyed the antics of his grandchildren, I could
sense that Dad was disappointed to see nothing
but low clouds outside. He could have stayed
home and got wet. He had no need to come all the
way to Switzerland for the privilege.
If you don’t know it, the Lauterbrunnen Valley
in the Bernese Oberland is the ultimate U-shaped
glacier-carved trench, flanked by soaring grey
walls down which numerous feathery waterfalls
dampen the cliffs. The Jungfrau guards its
entrance, and from it a row of stately peaks and
glaciers lead the eye to the Breithorn where the
headwall curves to include the Tschingelhorn
and unseen Gspaltenhorn. On either side of
the valley, but high above Lauterbrunnen, the
ever-popular car-free resorts of Wengen and
Mürren offer fine walking with magnificent
views. Oh, the days we’d spent hiking up there,
Min, me and the girls! Little did I realise then
that I’d be back many more times in the years
ahead – researching routes for Walking in the
Bernese Oberland, creating the multi-day Tour
of the Jungfrau Region or passing through on
the Swiss Alpine Pass Route. Little did I suspect
that I’d lead walking holidays in and around this
winter 2019 | Outdoor focus 3