UKC

In reply to Jack Geldard - Editor - UKC: No mention of the local one

http://www.ghost-story.co.uk/stories/benmacdhui.html

In reply to Chris F:

What? Norrie?

In reply to Jack Geldard - Editor - UKC:

I haven't read it yet, but I think those photos are the best I can remember seeing in any of your articles. They're the shit.

In reply to Jack Geldard - Editor - UKC: These sorts of experiences are also known to yachtsmen...in fact when crossing the Bay of Biscay in a moderate gale with a very rough sea, at night, after 5 days at sea and 24hrs awake I distinctly heard the Treorchy Male Voice Choir...just momentarily...in the wind. It might have been a 'micro-sleep' but the way I perceived it at the time it was a hallucination. Shortly afterwards another member of the crew hallucinated a fully rigged sailing vessel and talked about it so I owned up too! There then followed an interesting discussion about what we were experiencing and how it was well known amongst yachtsmen, something I didn't realise until then.

Cold, fatigue, apprehension (crossing shipping lanes at night in bad weather, 18 hours after inexplicably not being struck by vast lightning bolts) and lack of sleep. Sounds like similar experiences to those described in this article.

In reply to Chris F: No mention of the local one

You mean the Yeti-Wock?

YETI-WOCKY
(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)

‘Twas winter, and the mountaineers
Did stamp and stumble through the hills:
All frozen were the classic lines,
The Tower Ridge all clear.

Beware the Yeti-Wock, my son!
The Bheinn will bark, the claws may catch!
Beware the dinner plate and shun
The falling rock, the careless foot.

He took his trusty axe in hand
And risked the manxome foe,
So rested he at Minus Three,
And stood awhile in thought.

There as in numptish thought he stood,
The Yeti-Wock with eyes of flame,
Came cramponing through Minus Two
And murmured as he came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
He thrust his axe and nailed the route,
He staked his claim and with a name
He came abseiling home.

And has thou slain the Yeti-Wock?
Come to my arms, you mountaineer!
O bright clear day! The white neve!
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas winter, and the mountaineers
Did stamp and stumble through the hills:
All frozen were the classic lines,
The Tower Ridge all clear.

In reply to Jack Geldard - Editor - UKC:

"It is also clear that the psychological disturbances affecting mountaineers and adventurers at the limits of their endurance remain fundamentally mysterious in their nature and origin"

Mysterious only in that they are not fully understood - there's nothing supernatural going on.

In reply to Jack Geldard - Editor - UKC: Excellent little article.