Author Archives: Nick Bullock

Since returning from Fair Head I have worked almost every day on the Echoes sequel with the working title, Tides. When I write, I read, but not climbing… At the moment I’m reading Anger Is An Energy by John Lydon … Continue reading →

  For approximately twenty years I have climbed rock. And after this time you would think nothing new could be learnt. In reality, the opposite is true, especially for someone who did not ‘pull-on’ properly until his thirtieth year. I … Continue reading →

The woman, I guess, was in her seventies. Her hair, which had been straightened and dyed blond, hung in a long bob from beneath a black leather cap which matched her black leather trousers and her black leather boots. She … Continue reading →

I was approached a while back and asked if I would write “a couple of sentences or more,” to be included in an article about the changing face of British Alpinism. The first thing that came to mind was how is it … Continue reading →

  I had driven from Leicestershire to Chamonix to meet Paul Schweizer, it was September 2000. Paul was a reasonably affable American with a penchant to rant – we connected.  Old – older than me anyway – a tad crusty, … Continue reading →

Stupenda: Italian for marvellous, wonderful, stupendous, wondrous, terrific, stunning. I was acting like a truculent teenager. ‘We should be on The Dru. We should be on The Grande Jorasses. The weather is perfect; we should not be climbing a three … Continue reading →

   I walked through the front door of my home for the winter, a modern two bedroom apartment in the centre of Chamonix. Neil Brodie and Kenton Cool were waiting. “Come on, pack your stuff.” They were about to whisk … Continue reading →

    Its 8am and I’m sitting on my bed, leaning against the wall, eating breakfast and listening to the Today Programme on Radio 4. The cream coloured duvet is rucked and crumpled; a few crumbs of toast lay scattered. … Continue reading →

    In a week where innocent people are shot down in Paris for expressing their cartoon  feelings and then, several hours later, more killing – four innocent hostages and three fundamentalists are shot, also in Paris, it makes writing about a personal … Continue reading →

  When I was a teenager I kept ferrets and to feed them, I would pick up road kill or hunt rabbits or shoot starlings with an air rifle. At fourteen years old, Starlings were scrawny scavengers with no beautiful song, … Continue reading →