Alex Roddie's Blog, page 9

#TheAthollExpedition reviewed by TGO magazine

The Atholl Expedition has been reviewed by outdoor expert, backpacker and author Chris Townsend in the May 2014 issue of The Great Outdoors (TGO) magazine. TGO is one of the top selling outdoor publications in the UK and they printed a short review of my first novel almost exactly a year ago.

This time the review occupies almost an entire page in the book reviews section and is far more in depth. Some choice quotes:

"The outcome of the story ... isn't apparent until the end and this and the adventures along the way make for gripping reading."

"Neither the aristocrats nor the stalkers are the future. That lies with professors Forbes and Balfour."

"Alex Roddie knows the history of the period and he knows the mountains, his descriptions of both ringing true. The Atholl Expedition is an exciting and well-written adventure story but it also goes deeper into that, both into the history of the period and the psychology of the characters. It's one of the best works of mountaineering fiction I've read."

This is clearly a great review and Chris has done a brilliant job of weaving some of the real historical backstory into his analysis. I'm particularly pleased that this reviewer sees so clearly the many subtler themes and ideas that exist beneath the surface of my story — themes that I spend my life as an author pondering and considering how to express in my work. He isn't the first reviewer to have been perceptive on these matters, either, and I'm incredibly pleased that mountain lovers are getting so much more from the book. I have, after all, written it for them.

I consider Atholl to be a much better novel than my first book and I'm both glad and humbled it has received such recognition.

Android on the Nook Simple Touch, part 2

Macintosh HD: A new sister site

I enjoy blogging about technology. Some of my best and most popular articles have had nothing whatsoever to do with the mountains or with books, but rather the devices I use to write.

However, that kind of material doesn't really belong on this blog: the hits tend to come from Google, not from my established readers, who (I strongly suspect) care little for retro technology. For that reason I've decided to spin off that side of things into a completely separate blog I can dedicate to the subject.

Enter Macintosh HD, a "vague intersection of retro tech, Mac stuff, and the writing life." I intend to republish most of the original tech articles from this site onto the new one, plus (of course) new content. Please subscribe if such things interest you ... otherwise alexroddie.com will continue more or less as before, but with a renewed focus on literature, the outdoors, and my books.

New online interview with Andrew Mazibrada

Andrew Mazibrada is a climber, freelance outdoor writer and photographer who writes fiction under the pen name Marcus Cameron. Like many of my professional connections these days, we met on Twitter. He's hosting a series of in-depth interviews on the writing process of various authors and was kind enough to ask if I'd like to participate.

In the resulting interview I talk about my writing process, how I research my novels, and my take on the future of the publishing industry. You can read it here.

A Scottish Winter Season Missed

"The mountains will still be there next time..."

This is a phrase commonly used by climbers to console those who have missed an opportunity, failed on a climb, or retreated for safety reasons. It can be a great comfort. Unlike us, mountains do not wither or grow old, and they endure for millennia. This anchor, steady at the core of a long life filled with change, is part of the great attraction of the hills. It helps to give structure to our lives.

But sometimes these words fail to console. For the youngster new to the hills, every experience is precious and a missed opportunity can be a heavy blow; and for the old hand who is exiled from the mountains he loves, even if that exile is endured willingly and for the very best of reasons, every trip to the mountains is so valuable.

This is the first time in eight years that I have missed an entire Scottish winter mountaineering season. My one and only visit was in January this year, aborted due to high winds, and I didn't get near a single summit. My February trip was cancelled due to bad conditions, and my next chance for a trip to the hills won't come until June.

Since my first trip to Scotland in 2006 I have returned several times a year. Between 2008 and 2011 I lived in Glencoe and climbed several times a week. I have broken crampons, worn out ice axes, reduced expensive Goretex jackets to rags. Winter mountaineering is a big part of who I am and, when faced with the prospect of an entire season of exile, I find myself affected in ways I never would have expected. The yearning is there, of course; frequently unconscious, but then I will see a shaft of sunlight glancing across the meadow on my walk to the bus stop, or perhaps low-lying mist in the field from my study window, and in a flash I'm back on the mountain experiencing moments of danger or beauty. These flashbacks have the power to make me stop in my tracks and gasp.

I know of nothing else in life that has the ability to shape the human mind so powerfully, even years after the events in question. It's remarkable.

There is a positive side. When I lived in Scotland I found myself taking these wonders for granted. I started staying in bed on the less than perfect days, or dismissing an "ordinary" ascent of Stob Coire nan Lochan as boring. Now that I live far from the hills every single mountain experience is precious to me and far more valuable than it was before.

I find that this altered perspective fuels my writing, too. It's my curse that I am never able to effectively write about mountains while I live amongst them: I need time and distance to see them in their proper proportions.

I choose to live in Lincolnshire for many reasons, and I would never go back to the Highlands now: too much of my life is here, and I am well aware that returning to live in Scotland would make me unhappy. As someone who grew up far from the mountains I'm best able to appreciate them with regular visits — but visits firmly separated from the rest of my life.

What I struggle to deal with is when the intervals between these visits grow too long. Work has gobbled up more of my time than I would have liked these last few months, and I'm seeking to rebalance the scale. Until I do I'm sure I will continue to miss the hills — and to try and use that sense of longing to fuel the fires of my writing.

#TheAthollExpedition Goodreads competition is now closed

Many thanks to all of you who entered my Goodreads giveaway to win a signed copy of The Atholl Expedition. 167 people entered in total and I'm pleased to announce that the lucky winner is Julie Hallwood. Your copy of the book will be on its way shortly, Julie!

Breaking the ice on a new novel - the pilot chapter method

Actually getting started on a new novel can be a difficult step. Every writer is different: some of us leap headfirst into a new project, eager to get going, while others linger over characterisation and plot plans.

I tend to fall into the latter category. I have failed on novels before due to poor planning, so nowadays I like to be sure everything is ready before I write a line of the story. I spend weeks (or sometimes even months) conducting research, writing notes, drawing up detailed character files. I write complex historical novels so it would be foolish to jump into the deep end before I'm ready.

However, sometimes it pays to set aside the research and just get stuck in — even if it's only to test the waters.

The Pilot Chapter

What do I mean by a 'pilot chapter'? Put simply, it's a test run. It lets you explore characters, themes, and plot elements without committing to anything. Think of it as a sketchbook.

I'm currently at the point in planning Alpine Dawn II (boring working title The Solomon Gordon Papers) where most of the prewriting has been done and I'm itching to get into the meat of the story — however, I'm well aware that I'm not quite ready yet. I still need to outline the overall plot and answer some important questions before I begin.

I'm introducing some new main characters in this volume, including the journalist and showman Albert Smith. The pilot chapter I'm currently working on is set in Paris on the 23rd of June, 1848 — a date when revolutionary battles broke out between the desperate workers of the eastern quarters and the government forces of the west. This won't necessarily be the actual first chapter of the finished book, but by putting Smith in a stressful situation I can learn about how he acts and reacts as a character. The chapter is also answering lingering questions about various subplots.

As you might expect, I began by creating a first line. Here's mine:

A brick crashed through Smith's hotel room window.

Will it end up as the first line of the book? Probably not, but for now it's serving its purpose.

As a Springboard

Sometimes the pilot chapter can be something more: it can be the seed for the first draft. If the story really takes off and you find yourself three chapters in and still going strong, you're probably onto something good and should just keep going!

This is more or less what happened when I was working on The Only Genuine Jones. After two false starts — one of which got to over 20,000 words in length — I eventually decided just to start writing, no pressure, and see what happened. That pilot chapter worked well and, with a few modifications, became the final version of Chapter 1 as it exists today.

Ultimately we're all different. The pilot chapter method will be completely unsuitable for some writers; after all, some novelists don't plan their books at all, and thrive on jumping straight in. However, for those of us who like to plan for every eventuality before committing words to the page, the pilot chapter method can be a great way of breaking the ice on a new book.

Should George Mallory's ice axe remain in the UK?

If you ask the average person to name two mountaineers, he or she will probably pick Edmund Hillary and George Mallory. Both are synonymous with Everest, but for different reasons; while Edmund Hillary was the first to stand on the summit (along with his partner Tenzing Norgay), George Mallory is famous for his determined Everest campaign in the early 1920s. He disappeared during his final attempt on the peak in 1924 and his body was eventually found in 1999 by Conrad Anker.

The final moments of Mallory have puzzled historians ever since. It's one of the great mysteries of the 20th century and an important piece of climbing folklore.

The tale of Mallory's last climb is a rather romantic one and it continues to fascinate to the present day. It has all the ingredients of a legend: the troubled hero who didn't really want to be on Everest at all, but who felt compelled to return again and again; the noble quest to climb the world's highest peak; the equipment that, to our eyes, seems quaint and woefully primitive; the final doomed grasp for success. Perhaps the real reason Mallory continues to interest us is the seductive question of whether or not he was the first person to stand on the summit back in 1924. No conclusive proof has ever been found and the evidence has been interpreted in many ways.

Ultimately the question hardly matters; he didn't get down alive, and as every climber knows, that is the most important part of any climb. However, to this day Mallory is a household name and books, films and plays continue to be produced, all seeking to cast a little more light on the mystery.

Mallory's Ice Axe

The 1922 Everest expedition was special for several reasons. It was the first to use supplementary oxygen, the first to use Sherpas for support, the first to get within 2,500 feet of the summit. On the way down from their high point, Mallory was climbing with three companions and arrested a slip with a combination of his ice axe and rope. Both held fast.

His axe is typical of the period. The shaft is made of wood, the head forged from a single piece of quality steel. Such implements had been used for climbing for seventy years by 1922 and Mallory would have been extremely proficient in its use.

A modern ice axe may be both stronger and lighter, but in the right hands Mallory's axe would have been just as efficient in keeping a mountaineer safe above the snow line. The fact that it took the force of four falling climbers and held fast is testament to that.

The 1922 team won an Olympic Gold Medal for mountaineering, awarded in 1924. A number of other Winter Olympic Medals were awarded to individual expedition members. The gold medal made history again in 2012 when Kenton Cool fulfilled a pledge made in 1922 to take an Olympic medal to the summit.

The Auction

Mallory's axe was on loan to the National Mountaineering Exhibition at Rheged, but following the closure of the exhibition the axe passed back into private hands. It is up for auction at Christies next month and is expected to sell for £6,000 - £8,000.

The Mountain Heritage Trust has been negotiating to try to keep the axe from being sold, but have so far been unable to prevent the auction from going ahead. It is possible that, if the axe sells, it will end up leaving the country; but whatever happens it will almost certainly disappear from public view.

Why Mallory's Axe Matters

In my opinion - and also in the opinion of Everest climber Kenton Cool - it would be a shame if Mallory's axe leaves the UK. An ice axe is a powerful symbol for any mountaineer. They are very personal and become repositories for the memories and experiences we have in the mountains.

I have an old wooden-shafted ice axe that I sometimes use in Scotland. It was originally made by Stubai in the 1930s, passed to the Outward Bound trust, took severe damage to the adze, and after an indeterminate period ended up on eBay in 2007. I obtained the axe, fully restored it (an operation that included fitting a new shaft) and have since used it on many winter climbs in the Highlands.
Restoring the original Aschenbrenner in 2010That ice axe is, to me, irreplaceable: it represents eighty years of heritage, plus seven years of my own personal history. Mallory's axe is an even more powerful symbol. It was wielded by a legendary climber on the first serious attempt on the world's highest mountain. It saved lives. It has been kept in the UK since 1922 precisely because it is a tangible link to our mountaineering heritage.

The climbing world has several relics of this kind. There would be an outcry if Edward Whymper's ice axe was to be sold privately (it currently resides in the Zermatt museum, along with the frayed end of the rope that broke in 1865 on the Matterhorn). Such items deserve to be accessible to the public rather than hidden away in a private collection.

Ultimately I don't have a plan that might save Mallory's axe, but if you agree with me you should consider supporting the Mountain Heritage Trust, who have perhaps the best chance of saving it. They do great work in obtaining and cataloguing relics from our mountaineering past, and I'm sure donations would be very welcome!

What do you think? Should Mallory's axe be rescued from private ownership?

#TheAthollExpedition reviewed by Trail magazine

I had wondered what was causing today's huge spike in visitors to my website! Trail, one of the UK's most widely-read outdoor and mountaineering magazines, has published a short review of The Atholl Expedition in this month's issue. Here is the text in full:

"The year is 1847 and the location is the unexplored Cairngorms, as outdoor fiction writer Alex Roddie opens our eyes to life in the Scottish mountains before mountaineering began. This is a swashbuckling tale of outdoor adventure, bringing together some epic wild locations and great storytelling. Buy it from www.alexroddie.com (£10)"

I'd like to use this opportunity to point out that the novel is available to purchase from a variety of sources, including Amazon, Waterstones, and FeedARead. It's also available on Kindle for the low price of 98p.

Needless to say, I'm thrilled by this endorsement of my book from the fine folks at Trail, and welcome the opportunity for the book to reach thousands more readers in my audience ... after all, my novels have always found greatest popularity amongst those who like to wander the hills!

Scotland's last glacier ... as it appears in the present day!

Photo (C) James Roddie 2014, all rights reservedBack in January, it emerged that the last glacier in the Scottish highlands may have lasted well into the 1700s. Coire an Lochain, a deeply carved corrie in the northern Cairngorms, was believed to be the site of one of the last Scottish glaciers.

However, the research has been mired in controversy since the original paper was published. Rival scientists have challenged the claims and it now appears that the entire question hinges on arcane matters such as soil pits.

A definitive answer to the question "When did the last Scottish glacier die?" may be a little way off, but in the meantime we can gaze in awe at views like the one above and think back to what it must have been like.

The Great Slab of Coire an Lochain

The topography of Coire an Lochain is unusual. At the base of the cliffs, a gigantic slab of polished rock tilts down at a steep angle. Snow builds up on this slab during the winter months and it is often the site of spectacular, full-depth avalanches later in the season.

During thawing conditions like at present, the snowpack can slump and begin to drift down the slab, producing the dramatic crevasses clearly visible in the picture above. The effect is accelerated when the underlying ground isn't that cold (again, this closely mirrors current conditions).

The scale is altogether different, but here's a photo of a glacier in the Alps for comparison.


In this picture we can see genuine glacial crevasses caused by the gradual downhill movement of masses of ice over many centuries. This slope is also prone to avalanche - you can see huge blocks of debris that will testify to that, and many climbers have died here over the years - but it isn't a transient feature like the Coire an Lochain "glacier" is in the present day. The maze of crevasses will change year by year as the entire mass slowly drifts downhill, but it will be possible for a glaciologist to "track" individual features over long periods of time.

Glide Cracks or Crevasses?

The scene in Coire an Lochain today might look like a glacier, and the "crevasses" are certainly fearsome enough, but in the 21st century it's a temporary feature. The crevasses are known as "glide cracks," a term that refers to seams that open up in a slumping, thawing snow pack as it drifts downhill prior to a catastrophic avalanche.

Depending on conditions, these crevasses can stay in place for weeks or even months - but the avalanche will always happen, even if the pack hangs on well into May. By late summer the Great Slab will be almost entirely snow-free again.

So it might be thrilling to think of a wee glacier lurking in a hidden corrie of the Cairngorms even in the year 2014, but unfortunately the science says otherwise: it superficially looks like one, but it isn't!