First call out. I bundle my kit into the car and get away. There are hold ups on the single track road. A minute or two will make no difference, but the anxious, eager emptiness where my stomach should be makes me want to get on. I can just make out the ridge high above the road, and tattered strands of cloud streaming through cols and off pinnacles, dragged by a freshening, wet wind. The cloud base, a grey, dark ceiling, encloses the glen.

The helicopter is leaving with the paramedics as I arrive. Experienced climbers go next; stretcher bearers and new boys on the third trip. I try to feel calm and organised, sorting out what kit to take, what to leave. Everyone else might be selecting sprouts in Tescos, so cool are they, these men.

In no time we are whisked up to just below the ridge and winched out and down towards steep, wet grass. Simple imperatives come to mind, remembered from training. Keep your arms down or you'll slip out of the strop like a soapy baby. When you land, get out of it very quickly – being dragged around a mountainside by a dodgey chopper is unhealthy. Everything is happening very quickly. Just as we are all out safely, mist envelopes our great yellow bird. We hear its very, very slow descent into the cauldron of vapour, the crew apparently preferring to stay in sight of the mountain rather than standing off, and dropping blindly into the glen.

We clamber up to the summit and join the rest, who are getting the injured man onto the stretcher. I assure myself that the paramedics are happy with him and resume my role of novice. A navigation committee is formed, everyone cheerfully pointing in different directions. From high comedy emerges consensus, and we’re off. Man-handling man and stretcher down jumbled, loose, slippery blocks of quartzite is strenuous, awkward, and full of potential for breaking things. At least the wind driven drizzle is cooling. It is getting dark.

We are lucky. The cloud breaks at the low point on the ridge. We hear the throbbing rumble of our bird, the thunder of the messenger of the gods – benign gods, so far. Soon the casualty and the paramedics are winched into the gaping, black belly of the beast which sinks away into the dark glen where only the silver-black meanders of the river remain visible.

I’m aware of decisions being made around me. The helicopter crew change their minds moment by moment about how many of us they’ll carry. It seemed chaotic at first but I guess its not quite like a 747. Precise local conditions of lift on the ridge are probably crucial. The radio crackles from down below to say that they’re coming back for us. Some-one has decided that the casualty can wait before flying to hospital. Consequently, we will not be left with a walk-off in the dark. A finely balanced one, I guess. Maybe the best bit of any enterprise is when you are learning, fast you hope, but don’t have much responsibility. This is fun. Big boys, and a very big toy.

Four double winchings take a while. The restless beast hangs over us, never quite still in the rushing, buffeting, grey void. Flash lights rake the ground. Raw technology roars defiance to the cliffs and into the emptiness which hangs between them, searing Atlantic air and cloud with the stench of kerosene. All that’s missing is a big band, Wagner and the Valkyrie.

On another day one late summer, on the same hill, in bright sunshine and languid heat, I watched three peregrines playing. They soared and stooped at one another, as puppies or kittens practice their hunting tricks. One was a bigger bird than the rest. I wondered if they were a family group, the young birds of the summer being taught a thing or two by the female, which among peregrines is the more powerful bird. The boss bird.

I think of these graceful, strong, faintly chilling predators as the chopper arcs tightly down to its landing, rears back to halt its momentum, and settles as lightly as any bird. The pilot turns, to survey the heap of soggy sacs and bodies in the back. In the enormous helmet, only the eyes are visible …..unexpected eyes. Then …a slightly girlie wave? The eyes crease. She has enjoyed herself too.

…………

Next morning, tucked up safely in hospital, our casualty’s main worry is whether he can get back to the hills before the end of his holiday. We have all been very lucky, this time.

775 words.