The Recipe of Knowledge - Living for the Mountain

Lochnagar lies under a heavy blanket of late-season snow. What would be a monochrome landscape – black granite contrasting against pristine white – is cast in blues and purples under clear pre-sunrise skies. 

Clouds build as Boswell casts his eyes up a narrow face, cast between a smooth arete and grooved corner. Thin seams of iced cracks lead into mist and windblown static above. Silence, save the distant honking of a ptarmigan. There may be beauty in climbing, but in winter climbing there is more than a little thuggery required too. Ice tools scratch against rock. Progress is stilted; blow-by-blow. Yet, observe hard enough and flow can be found as he journeys upwards.

“The changing of focus in the eye, moving the eye itself when looking at things that do not move, deepens one’s sense of outer reality” - Nan Shepherd, The Living Mountain.

How do we truly know a place? A sense of place is greater than knowing one's location. It goes beyond a singular moment in time. Knowledge sweeps across seasons and years. It represents studying with purpose and the absorption of detail by osmosis. Knowledge occupies the liminal space between observation and interaction; stepping outside of the moment to appreciate one's aspect… and utter focus on the minutiae of movement and physicality.

A contour can be read on a map, observed from the comfort of the car, but only known and experienced by burning calves and lungs. True knowledge is gained by not just feeling a bruising northerly wash over one, but turning into it and stepping forwards. Hooking an icetool into a sliver of a crack invisible from the valley floor. Tumbling down a trail in fell shoes playing high-speed, high stakes hopscotch.

“I love being in the mountains. Whether that’s running, pursuing wildlife photography or climbing. While the activities are obviously very different, I feel like they all have the same ingredients; just in different quantities.”

Greg Boswell is talking to me from his home in Aberdeenshire during a mid-winter deep thaw. Prolonged mild temperatures have left the Scottish mountains looking decidedly brown. Not ideal for someone who has built his professional climbing career on being one of the very best winter climbers in the world and is perhaps best known for his envelope pushing Scottish winter ascents. 

If he is feeling any frustration, Greg is quick to brush over it. He’s looking forward to getting out for a run after our call, and rattles through stories with a smile and style that draws you into conversation; less of an interview and more of a chat down the pub or over a cup of tea.

“I was born in Beverley, in East Yorkshire, but our family moved to the Isle of Seil, near Oban when I was three. We spent about twelve years there and it was impossible not to be fully submerged in the outdoors. Our driveway was basically two miles long. We would sea kayak a lot and go hillwalking with my parents. I didn’t really appreciate how lucky we were to live there and how important being out in the wilds was to me until we moved again – to Dunfermline. I was still super active; wakeboarding and learning to climb at Ratho [International Climbing Arena], but I definitely felt a sense of loss for that wildness that the west coast seemed to possess.”

“To know the hills, and their own bodies, well enough to then exploit is their real achievement” - Nan Shepherd, The Living Mountain.

January 2023, Bring Da Ruckus. The route’s name almost says it all. The handful of seconds of phone footage on Boswell’s instagram filled in most of the gaps. Cutting loose on precariously placed ice axes, a brutish roof, gear distantly far below, and a blank-looking, rimed-up headwall above. Returning to the idea of tacit knowledge – knowledge through doing, action ‘been there, done that’ – Bring Da Ruckus represented depth. A PhD in everything that makes Scottish winter climbing so unique. A step forward in terms of blending technicality and overall seriousness, yet done so within the firmest of nods towards the traditions of the past. Ground-up and exploratory. Nothing guaranteed. A new line. Avalanches tumbling down the gullies that framed the face. Starting and finishing in the all-encompassing dark of a northern winter.

Stealing Greg’s recipe analogy this was one with little balance or subtlety. Punching Scotch Bonnet flavours overwhelming the taste buds. It was an experience that was anything but one-dimensional however. With an accustomed palette comes an opportunity for discovery; a small expansion of the mental map. But perhaps these experiences are as much about exploration of self as they are true forays into unknown land. 

“I left school when I was fifteen. I really hated school” – says Boswell with a grin – “I applied for a job at Tiso [outdoor shop] in Edinburgh as soon as I was old enough to. I was lucky enough to get it and even luckier to be there at a time when lots of strong climbers worked there. I then got a job at Ratho. The fortune continued in many ways, as I’d head out into the mountains with the instructors there every day off and just climb whatever they were doing. The environment really fostered my climbing. I was pushed and challenged without really realising it. And with these super safe, super experienced guys while I learned the art. I think that, combined with my earlier childhood, has meant that the mountains have never felt like an alien place.”

“Well, I have discovered my mountain – its weathers , its airs and lights, its singing burns, its haunted dells, its pinnacles and tarns, its birds and flowers, its snows, its long blue distances. Year by year, I have grown in familiarity with them all. But if the whole truth of them is to be told as I have found it, I am too involved… I can teach my body many skills by which to learn the nature of the mountain” - Nan Shepherd, The Living Mountain.

If all we do is move through the mountains, do we truly understand them? When we are in motion, how can we tell what is still and what is real? If we are constantly passing by, how can we ever have a sense of place? If we are so absorbed in our own experiences and our own interaction with the mountain; if our entire energy and being is focussed on simply making onward progress and (god forbid) not falling… where is the space to take in a breath? The hills and fells and crags and lochs are more than our playgrounds. 

“I love my photography days in the mountains. So often when I’m climbing, I walk in during darkness and walk out during darkness. I’m so focussed on what is in front of me that it is quite a singular experience. Even some of the senses are numbed – or maybe just tuned to a particular frequency. Tunnel vision, and whatever the equivalent would be for hearing. Smell and taste cease to be important. Climbing is all about deliberate movement. Photography is about deliberate observation. But that observation allows for a wider appreciation of your surroundings. That sense of doing something deliberately is important to me though. I’ve never been very good at ‘just going for a walk’. Photography gives that sense of purpose.”

The landscape is not – or should not – be defined by what we do to it, or within it. It will forever be constantly changing. Permanent ephemera. Clouds will dance and light and shadow will play, regardless of whether we are there to see it. Ptarmigan will regrow and shed winter plumage. Moss campion will scatter purple across high plateaus in late spring. Stags will bellow and the clashes of antler against antler will echo through empty glens come autumn. All of which makes the experience of being present during these moments all the more electrifying.

“Earlier this week I went out with the express purpose of capturing images of a mountain hare. There’s a guy called ‘the hare whisperer’ and I was following his tips. It’s an exercise in patience. I’m in the mountains often enough that I know the places to go to see wildlife, but shooting a good photo is very different. So I got to my spot, and I just waited. And you wait until the hares get comfortable with your presence. After a while, I was able to begin moving around. The hares know you aren’t a threat. I think I got within 20 metres or so of them just going about their lives.” 

Photography isn’t simply about being in the right place though. It is about capturing an image – with technical competence and artistic skill. Moments and emotions and knowledge and understanding. 

“I owe Hamish a lot when it comes to my technical knowledge of photography. I just asked him endless questions on our walk-ins to the mountains and absorbed everything. I’ve been on photoshoots since I was 17, and you definitely begin to develop an eye for what makes a good photograph in terms of angles and composition.”

Boswell stalks across long grass and tussocks; camera attached to tripod; its large telephoto lens slung over his shoulder. The winter snows are now well in retreat. There is heat to the sun on his back as he lays prone staring down the viewfinder. A white-tailed eagle soars above, making the most of unseen thermals. An otter briefly emerges from its holt and slips into the loch with splosh that is almost indiscernible from the calm lapping of the water against the shore.

For those moments, Boswell breathes in rhythm with the mountains and his finger depresses the shutter. The telephoto lens captures simultaneously more and less than the eye can see. Unimaginable detail. Briney-slick fur. The precise angle of each feather. Yet, the wind-shaped chop on the surface of the loch blurs and relaxes. 

Maybe to fully appreciate the depth of life, we must allow our focus elsewhere to soften too.

“You know about the bear attack, right?” 

Mountain hares will peer out of their snow concealed burrows, sniff the air, nibble on green shoots. Grizzly bears will attack their prey, move at speed, maul and clamp their jaws around a human.

Our conversation had moved on, or more accurately, back. Back to 17 year old Greg writing to companies asking for sponsorship, exhibiting a drive that isn’t obvious in casual conversation, but clearly runs deep. 

“I think I had a little bit of an ego, but it just came out of a desire to keep pushing myself and seeing what I was capable of. I sent off these letters, but even then, I remember saying something like ‘I’ll only do what I want to do, but if you want to support that, then great.’ It must have worked as Vaude and Edelrid sent me some kit.”

It was a few years later and Boswell was supplementing his income by working offshore. Five weeks on, five off. He hated it. Too long away from the mountains. Too little to do. On his third period back onshore he was climbing with Nick Bullock in the Canadian Rockies when he got attacked by a grizzly bear. The story of his ensuing escape was wild enough to attract headlines in the national press. The incident represented a turning point for Boswell; a moment of reflection. 

“It’s amazing what goes through your mind in those moments. All I could think was how much I regretted the last five weeks of my life and now it was going to end. Given a second chance, I resolved that life is too short to waste it on anything that you hate.

“I’m a joiner now and I genuinely enjoy working with my hands, but I also appreciate the separation from my life outdoors. It offers a different perspective, but allows me to prioritise time outside.”

“Before moving to Aberdeenshire, my partner and I spent a while living out of a van, driving around Scandinavia and Europe. I’ve always enjoyed running, but it became the go-to for exploring new places. It was so easy to park up at a trailhead, lace up my shoes and head into the mountains… for half an hour or for a whole day. It’s so much easier than climbing. There’s no need for a guidebook, no need to wait for the right conditions, nothing to carry other than maybe some water, snacks and layers. 

“Even back home in Scotland, running has allowed me to learn more about places that I thought I knew well. There’s this interweaving of understanding and appreciation. It sounds obvious, but running allows you to cover ground more quickly and you end up linking distinct locations as part of a single run.

“Both running and climbing have given me a real appreciation for the diverse geology and geography of Scotland. From the angular west, full of flat edges to hook to the rounded Cairngorms; knuckle-like mountain profiles and rounded edges.”

To truly know, perhaps we simply need to go beyond feeling and consciously think. See and do and sense and consider and repeat and repeat and repeat. 

Grow and adapt and discover.

It’s easy to forget that Boswell is not yet in his mid-thirties and still has many years of cutting edge climbing ahead of him. There will be more climbs and runs and days spent sitting perfectly still in the heather with a camera and telephoto lens. 

And perhaps that’s the beauty of knowledge… it has unfathomable depths and unclimbable heights. There will always be something new to learn.

“As I penetrate more deeply into the mountain’s life, I penetrate also into my own” - Nan Shepherd, The Living Mountain.