Author Archives: Nick Bullock

This time last year, maybe a little earlier, I met Paul Ramsden while cat sitting in the Hippy’s house in Waunfawr. Paul had driven over to chat about travelling to Tibet to try and climb a new route on a … Continue reading →

  “Are you setting a rappel rope?” I turned and looked into a familiar face. Alex Honnold stood looking at me with those large dark eyes that were set in a tanned complexion. Of course I knew he was at … Continue reading →

This month its my turn to be the judge in Mountain Equipment’s summer photograph competition #MEclimbing In conjunction with the competition I was asked to supply a piece of writing which is featured on the site here with shots by … Continue reading →

Switchback after switchback. I drive from the doss situated amongst the old pine, high above the valley base and the river. I stop at one bend and count the vultures. A corkscrew of about thirty birds rising and circling, rising … Continue reading →

I drove my little red van deep into the night. Fields. Roads. Painted white lines. Over to the east, a large orange glow lit the night sky. Paris. I was on my own and heading to the Gorges du Tarn … Continue reading →

It’s a strange feeling, when in a modern world of share and share alike you become comfortable with being yourself and being inside yourself and feeling like you don’t need to share that self which given I’m writing about myself … Continue reading →

Recently I had a series of photographs, with each photograph accompanied by a paragraph of writing, featured on the Alpinist Magazine social media sites, Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. The ‘takeover’ is for someone like myself, climber/writer/photographer/bigmouth, to supply a picture … Continue reading →

I’ve just finished the third draft/edit of what will hopefully become my second book, provisionally called, Tides. wuthering and erosion. Below is chapter 24. how Soon is Now. This was first published in the on-line magazine Mountain Pro Magazine How … Continue reading →

Sat by myself, I drive north from Llanberis. Several hours later, just over the Kessock Bridge, the bridge that crosses the Beauly Firth in Inverness, I turn into the tourist information centre and set about to wait. Sitting, eating a … Continue reading →

I was sat engulfed inside the comforting arms of a large chair. A fireplace made from red brick, smoke tainted and heat scorched, held burning logs the size of small canoes. The glowing logs shimmered in the subdued light of … Continue reading →