Recently, my friend Pat and I embarked on an unforgettable journey to climb the mighty Old Man of Hoy. This iconic sea stack located on the small island of Hoy off the coast of Orkney, Scotland, has been on our respective bucket lists for a while. Once we had bumped into each other at work again and realised the weekend climbing hits in Scotland that our jobs had brought into the realm of possibility, it was only a matter of time until we got on with it.

Formed over thousands of years by the forces of nature, this majestic sea stack stands as a testament to the power and beauty of our planet. Its towering presence has fascinated climbers and nature enthusiasts alike since its discovery in the early 19th century. The first ascent of the Old Man of Hoy is an incredible tale that adds a layer of excitement and historical significance to this remarkable sea stack. Back in 1966, three daring climbers, Chris Bonington, Rusty Baillie, and Tom Patey, embarked on an audacious mission to conquer the seemingly unconquerable. Armed with rudimentary gear and a thirst for adventure, they faced numerous challenges, including treacherous weather conditions and limited climbing techniques of the time. After three days of arduous climbing, battling through vertical walls and precarious ledges, they reached the summit, etching their names in mountaineering history. Their feat captivated the world and transformed the Old Man of Hoy into an icon of human resilience and determination. Today, their story continues to inspire climbers and adventurers, reminding us that with passion, perseverance, and a touch of daring, the impossible can be achieved.

Our adventure began when I picked Pat up from Aberdeen Airport on Friday Morning. We enjoyed an all too leisurely coffee or three with my girlfriend before realising any time advantage we had engineered, had long since drowned in filter coffee. Around 6 hours later after some hurried food and last minute kit shopping, we half ran half stumbled onto the ferry two minutes after it was supposed to leave. Phew, time for a beer and to enjoy the scenic ferry ride from the mainland to the stunning Orkney Islands. The anticipation built as we approached the imposing silhouette of the Old Man of Hoy in the distance. If it wasn’t for the strong, biting wind, there may have been more photos from our first acquaintance with the beautiful monolith. We left it looking resplendent in the evening sun as we continued our journey North to Stromness passing, on our way, the mighty St John’s Head. The highest sea cliff in Britain and one of the few places on the British Isles to make you feel truly insignificant in the natural world. In a former life, the base jumping opportunities here would have proved hard to ignore. I was happy enough to just take in the vista this time and appreciate the adventure we had come for.

Arriving in Stromness, we hotfooted it to the campsite (about a 15 minute walk) on the peninsula, pitched our tent, climbed in and promptly fell asleep to the sound of the sea crashing against the nearby rocks. Waking 9 hours later to the flapping of nearby tent fabric and the birdsong of a multitude of new and familiar birds.

Sitting back in Stromness harbour having packed the tent, we ‘enjoyed’ some distinctly average coffee and the racist ramblings of a local shop owner whilst waiting for the ferry to Hoy. An hour later and we stepped off the ferry, on to Hoy and into the waiting taxi to Rackwick Bay. We left the taxi and walked quickly down to the bay proper and our accommodation for the Saturday night. The bothy here is in as beautiful a location as you could ever hope for. The closest neighbours are some Highland Cattle and the Oyster Catchers on the beach. The views are breath taking, it’s a place that seems to have resisted the destructive hand of man.

The route up to the Old Man is easy to follow and well signed from the hamlet. It takes around an hour at a steady pace from the bothy but perhaps under the heat of the midday sun isn’t the wisest time to be walking in. We were thankful for the substantial breeze that greeted us as we crested the headland and got our first view of the afternoon’s objective. Winding our way along the path, we could see that most of the people from our morning ferry were sat having lunch on the headland opposite the ‘Old Man’. Having already fielded questions on the boat we figured we might have an audience for a bit of the climb. Fortunately by the time we’d scoped out the route and located the path that would lead us down to the base, we were out of sight of them and figured they’d thankfully moved on. Getting down was actually pretty simple, A steep and narrow path wound it’s way down to the bottom from about 150m north of the sea stack. Although the consequences of slipping would be pretty inconvenient at best, as long as you are careful it is wide enough and only includes a couple of down climbing type steps close to the bottom.

We were finally at the bottom, geared up and tied in at about 1pm. We flipped a coin and I got pitches 1,3 and 5 whilst Pat got 2 and 4. This meant he got the all important crux pitch but i got the finishing corner pitch so it wasn’t all bad. Off I quested up some really nice easy terrain and found myself quickly at the top of pitch one on a perfect belay stance. A sun trap and flat, it allowed me to take off my shoes and get comfortable to belay Pat on the big pitch.

An airy down climb and traverse round the corner had Pat at the crux. A few shouts back and forth, neither of us really hearing the other. A few forays up and back down, a flick of the rope to free it up and then a whoop and a loud shout of ‘Safe Owen’ and it was time to follow. What a beautifully absorbing pitch of climbing, at once delicate and primitive. Polished in places and sandy in others, this didn’t detract from the stunning position I found myself in. Regrouping at the belay, we looked at the guide and I quested off. The next two pitches were relative non events with very little exciting climbing. We did, however have our first experience of angry fulmars. Poking my head over a ledge I narrowly avoided the famed vomit greeting. Pat led through and deposited us safely at the base of the final stunning looking corner pitch.

After a very windy top-out, we beat a hasty retreat down the line of our ascent. Three abseils had us back on the ground, the last one of these being a fun free hanging one. Packing up we headed back up and out of the bay and enjoyed a leisurely walk back to the bothy. we arrived at around 7pm feeling pretty dehydrated and amazed that we somehow scored such good weather and no other people on the iconic route. We lay in the grass outside the bothy eating wraps and left over food and playing catch up with our hydration for the next half hour. By 8pm, I had climbed into my sleeping bag and for the rest of the evening I drifted in and out of sleep in a blissful state of relaxation come exhaustion.

A lazy start on Sunday morning as we waited for our taxi back to the ferry. Saying our goodbyes to the bothy and beach, we sauntered back up to the rendezvous point, and sat, enjoying the chatter of the birds and the low hum of bees busying themselves with bee jobs. The minibus arrived and we hopped on. So began our tenuous link up of transport modes to get home. The minibus arrived on the Jetty as the ferry pulled in. Once boarded, we called ahead to the ferry office for the journey from Stromness to the mainland and they agreed to hold the ferry for us. Off the foot ferry and onto the larger vessel back to Scrabster, an hour and a half later and we were heading back through the throngs of foot passengers and to the van for the drive home. Five hours of winding roads, Sunday drivers, lightning storms, sunshine and coffee shops later and Pat was deposited at his hotel in time for a good sleep before heading offshore on the Monday morning and I was heading home to well earned cocktails and home cooked food with Holly.

Somehow we had struck weekend climbing gold. The whole stack to ourselves, not a cloud or drop of rain in the sky until safely on our way home. A proper adventure all finished off as any good weekend should be, with Pisco sours, good company and cuddles with a pooch.