Writing the Watershed

Remembering Dave Hewitt

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men walk under his huge legs and peep about, to find ourselves dishonourable graves.

You can listen to me reading the article here. Or download and then listen

There’s a record I’m pretty certain the late Dave Hewitt held that’s rarely mentioned among his many other hill-related accomplishments: at over 1700 Munro ascents and 1500 climbs of his beloved Ochil, Ben Cleuch, he must have reached an accumulated height greater than any other Scottish hillwalker. Being six foot eight in his socks would do that. Altitude beats attitude every time.

Dave died in late November last year, unexpectedly and too young at 64. I was one of his many correspondents, honoured to be asked to contribute to the notorious magazine he edited, The Angry Corrie, and through him a columnist, briefly, on the pioneering online publication The Caledonian Mercury. He led me, hilariously and terrifyingly, up an icebound Ben Chonzie in his determination to introduce me to the joys of Scottish winter hillwalking. And on a searingly hot 7 July 2005 he, myself and Dave Donaldson, the man who made me write scripts for The Broons and Oor Wullie, climbed Ben Ledi, and that provoked the last email I received from Dave, last summer :

Hope all’s well. With it being the 20th anniversary of the London bombings, I was thinking of our Ben Ledi outing that day. The two main things I remember are the phones belonging to you and Dave Donaldson - especially his - suddenly ringing and pinging like mad as the news broke. Also, while we were up top several helicopters flew quite near us coming out of the G8 summit at Gleneagles. Incidentally, someone from the village where I grew up in Derbyshire died on one of the tube trains…

I can hear Dave’s voice - a low, careful, gentle rumble - in that and the dozens of other emails that lurk in my mailbox. Other memories - tea at the Cambuskenneth House he shared with the lovely Tessa, and a leisurely ascent (cognizant of my various injuries and illnesses by that time) of Gillies Hill west of Stirling.

Lately, a conversation with mutual friend Perkin Warbeck about Trangia stoves (brilliant Swedish mechanisms that use methylated spirits as fuel, unless you’ve blasphemously converted yours to run on gas) led to a discussion of what may be Dave’s greatest achievement, and one that never registered, sadly, with me when he was alive: in 1987 he completed the Scottish watershed in one continuous walk from the Borders to Cape Wrath - a pioneering feat that is related in his masterpiece, the wonderful book Walking the Watershed, brilliantly illustrated by Chris Tyler and first published in 1994. As it happens, Dave abandoned his trusty Trangia for that journey in favour of a JetBoil gas affair that. gave him nothing but trouble. From The Devil’s Beef Tub to Cape Fear itself.

It took him 80 days to cover the 800-odd miles of Scotland’s east/west divide - the line separating rivers flowing to the east from those to the west. The book is a beautifully descriptive, highly personal, political (the dark shadow of Thatcherism glowers down throughout) emotionally and spiritually challenging account; for me,it brings back bittersweet memories of the people and beliefs among whom and which both Dave and I stumbled during the 1980s. Especially the post-evangelical cultism we both regarded with affection and appalled fascination.

Dave was a superb writer, a painstaking and exacting editor, someone whose devotion to facts occasionally led him (with a degree of glee, it must be said) into controversies that may seem abstruse to those outside the more Jesuitical hillwalking coteries. Notably, on the 2010 publication of Peter Wright’s book Ribbon of Wildness: Walking the Watershed of Scotland as to who had actually done it first and where the correct end was located.That Dave is correct in his assertion (Cape Wrath, not Duncansby Head) and was the first to complete the continuous walk remains beyond question.

He wrote for many publications including Scottish Chess and notably The Scotsman, edited a book on the great Lakeland hillman Alfred Wainwright, was a committed and competitive chess player and a cricket expert. He loved sport, music, statistics and literature - Walking the Watershed is full of obscure and joyous literary and musical references and puns - but it is as a friend he will always be missed. He cared for people. He kept contact. He was loyal.

You can read Walking the Watershed online or download it free as an ePub file for Kindle. The single printed edition (Dave had his own publishing company, TAC Press) is collectible and expensive, but somehow I managed last week to obtain for just £9.99 an unread copy from World of Books.

I was immediately put in mind of the great album by Yvonne Lyon and Boo Hewerdine, which Dave would have loved, called Things Found in Books - the record is a suite of songs inspired by the objects found in second-hand volumes at the lovely bookshop in the grounds of Culzean Castle. Boo and Yvonne are touring their show at the moment and I recommend it highly.

In the signed copy of Walking the Watershed I received I found a 1996 letter to a Mr and Mrs Kirkland of Debyshire, old Hewitt family friends. It contains among personal updates, this:

Ironically, seeing as I’m supposed to be a hillwalking writer, busyness has meant I’ve been out to the hills very little of late and not at all in terms of properly getting to new and remote places. Not that this bothers me hugely - these days I’m more just endlessly curious about local hills and rarely if ever tire of constant returnings - somewhat against the grain of the modern trend, which seems to be endlessly dash round as many new places as possible. I’d often rather wander the Ochils or Ben Vorlich for the umpteenth time…

The address it was sent from no longer exists. In 1996 Dave was involved in a community social work project which saw him resident in the tower block that used to stand at 170 Sandiefield Road in the Gorbals.

I sometimes think of him standing on the 24th storey of that block, gazing out at the Campsies, perhaps on a clear day to Ben Lomond and the Arrochar Alps. Given his personal eye level he would have been higher than anyone else in Glasgow at the time. Reaching heights no-one else could. Endlessly curious. A giant among men.

I to the hills will lift mine eyes

From whence doth come my aid…

Dave’s Wikipedia Wikipedia entry contains links to much of his writing. Most copies of The Angry Corrie are available to read online, and Walking the Watershed can be downloaded. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dave_Hewitt_(writer)

.