Jim was his own man and owed nobody anything. Being single Jim was entitled to live the lifestyle he enjoyed without harming anyone. I make no apology for referring to the odd tinny or two or three when recounting some of these stories.

Arrival
Jim arrived at Kinloss in 1976 and obviously had some engineering experience on Shackleton aircraft. This happy man liked to sing folk songs and had quite a repertoire. Jim’s first weekend with the team was in Glen Affric where he was singing Shackleton Squadron songs, which went down with the troops like a lead balloon. He soon changed his loyalty and became a proponent of the Corries or Gaberlunzie much more acceptable, and all the rage with the team at that time.

Iran
I first met Jim on Nejat 77 in Iran. This was a large scale International Search and Rescue Exercise. 70 Squadron Supplied the detachment Commander and aircraft and Kinloss and Leuchars supplied the troops. We had fallen out with the aircrew who tried to steal our duty free. Anyway each nation was allocated a night for their official party. After the hill side of the exercise, which was a disaster, the troops were getting bored and started to imbibe. They decide to organise a British MR party, this totally confused the other nationals.

Jim gave me a bit of grief because he went missing for about four hours. When questioned as to where he had been, he said he had been organising a band for the party. He had managed to con the divisional band from the local Iranian army division to play at our party. In the confusion the whole world turned up thinking it was the official Brit party, and we had the best Nejat party. Hardly anyone turned up to the official British party the next night.

Kinloss
Two weeks later I arrived at Kinloss and met the real Jim. A man with a real passion for the hill, who had put his heart into the Highlands. Most MR troops are really hill fit, but some are exceptional. Jim fitted into the latter category. His fitness was unreal, considering he smoked like a chimney and could drink like the proverbial fish. Not only did he complete all the Munros and Corbetts, but he participated in a number of North to South and East to West walks.

In addition, he did Tranters Ben and the Ring of Steall twice. This route is the Mamores, far Stob Ban, Grey Corries, Aonochs and Ben Nevis in a ‘oner’.

His other marathon was The Kintail round, North and South Cluanie on his own and in one day.

His area knowledge was second to none and he was excellent at teaching the new troops navigation and really gave a good value day. A day on the hill with Jim was a bonus, if you could keep up with him. However, he wasn’t quite superman and frequently stopped for a smoke.

It has to be admitted, that like me, he wasn’t a brilliant climber but enjoyed what he did. One day he was climbing with Eric Hughes on the Summer Course. Eric said it was one of the longest climbs he ever did, because Jim stopped for a cigarette on every belay and insisted he finished it before they moved on. I sympathise because that was the way I climbed.

Because of his shift system Jim had plenty of time off. On these occasions he would take off in his car, with his light weight tent and head for the hills. I bet we never heard half of the epics he had out there.

He arrived at Corrour Bothy on his own one night, after doing Braeriach, Cairn Toul and The Devils Point in desperate winter conditions. Got straight in his sleeping bag, with wet clothes on and soon opened up a can… and then another. He became aware of some rustling in the far corner. And, then the unmistakable sound of whisky being poured into a mug, he became aware of another solo climber. Jim threw him a can and soon a mug of whisky was slid across in exchange-and so it went on. They left separately in the morning with never a word exchanged.

Benbecula One weekend in 1981 we were just about to head for Skye, for our Annual inspection by Gordon Blackburn, when we got a Call Out to North Uist. The search was for a missing light aircraft in the trans Atlantic race. We found nothing but we had a rare fun weekend. The return journey was from Lochmaddy to Uig on Skye. After we boarded, the bar opened at around 1000. Now Gordon could normally compete with the best of them when it came to a few pints, but he didn’t reckon with Jim and some of the troops, who are here today.

Must buy the boys a pint, says Gordon, and headed for the bar where Jim and the heavy mob were. He arrived back with his pint and we carried on chatting. Not many minutes passed by when Jim slid across with a pint for Gordon. Then Gus arrived with a pint. Gordon bought the next round. At various intervals more pints arrived and by the time we arrived at Uig, Gordon had sunk nine pints and was almost legless and snored in my landrover all the way to Kinloss. Jim and the gang just wandered off to there vehicles as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. That was the famous nine pint crossing.

Base MR cook shacks have never been particularly hygienic but it never did us any harm. Jim used to conjure up some quite exotic dishes when he was on cook. He made a mean curry but there were sometimes surprises in it, such as strawberry jam or Mars bars in the soup. It used to amuse me to come off the hill and find Jim with a fag dangling from his lips and the odd tinny lying around, stirring the soup.

Jim was duty cook one Saturday – after a hard nights bevvying. Anyway on this occasion Al Sylvester came off the hill thirsty and hungry and one of the troops recommended the soup.
“real soup Al” he said. Al was partial to real soup so he had a plateful and the troop was right, it was good. So Al had some more. Seeing that Al was finally replete, the troop now felt he could confide to Al from where the real soup came from.
“It came from the chicken carcase we had yesterday”, said the troop.
“It wasn’t far down the bin, Jim says, so there weren’t too many slops poured on top of it”.

Jim was proud of being a member of the bad boys club. When the pub closed we would head for the cook shack and make a piece. After a few minutes most would head for their sleeping bags. However, the bad boys club would sit around the cook shack and make a curry or something similar and trash the cooking area, which upset the next day’s cook.

Eventually, they would come to bed trying not to wake anybody! Jim normally slept next to Joe. After a couple of minutes you would hear Psst as a tinny opened, a few seconds later a scrape and a flash of light as the fag was lit and eventually the sizzle as the dog end was dropped into the empty can and then the snoring started. Whatever sort of night we had Jim was always raring to get on the hill next day.

Killin One day in Killin Jim lost the Wop when they got separated on Ben Lawers, the weather wasn’t particularly bad but with low cloud visibility was very poor. Poor old Jim was a bit embarrassed as the search was organised, trying not to alert any outside agencies. Anyway, we eventually found the wop, none the worse for wear, and headed for the pub.

At closing time Jim and the troops arrived back with a carry out and in high spirits. As usual most went to bed, but the bad boys stayed up. Joe was supposed to cook next day and went to bed earlier than usual. Jim and the troops were dispersing the contents of the cook shack around the village hall to wind up Joe for the morning when at 0200 your friendly Bobby arrives to tell us we were wanted in Glencoe for a search. So eager was Jim to get on the road that he kicked the Tilley lamp over and nearly set fire to the tent. He then jumped into the nearest Bedford intending to drive to Glencoe. Needless to say a couple of us dragged him out of the cab. But true to form when we arrived in Glencoe Jim had sobered up and was all set for a long day on the hill.

Conon Bridge. After Jim left the RAF he made a conscious decision to move away from Forres and the RAF. He bought himself a house in Conon Bridge and lived quietly and frugally. He continued to go to the hills and could often be seen on his bike around the black Isle and often cycle out to climb Ben Wyvis

Myrt and I usually popped in to see him about every six months and he seem to be quite happy. Every so often our door bell would ring and there would be Jim. Hi Sunsh, just done the big four or something like that. He always stopped for a meal and we would reminisce for a couple of hours and then he would be on his way. Unfortunately, we had not seen Jim for the last year.

It is hard to accept that we will no longer hear that quiet voice, or see the impish grin, but Jim was as one with the mountains, and now the mountain will be as one with Jim.