In Spring 1953, Wilfred Noyce was part of the expedition that climbed Everest. He wrote an attractive book in which he claimed that he and John Hunt would have been the third pair to go for the summit if Hilary and Tenzing had failed. In the autumn, he returned to his teaching job at Charterhouse. He taught modern languages in a classroom decorated with the names of famous mountaineers and explorers. He was lax on discipline - the only punishment I ever saw him inflict was on a boy who had added his (Noyce's) name.

In 1954, Wilfred Noyce took a party of Carthusians, including me, on a climbing trip in Snowdonia. We stayed at Helyg, the Climbers Club hut in the Ogwen valley, and walked to Tryfan (Milestone Buttress; Heather Terrace); the Idwal slabs (Faith, Hope and Charity, whose first pitch was so worn as to be unclimbable in wet weather); Craig yr Ysfa (Amphitheatre Buttress); and to the pub in Capel Curig.

I did several such trips with Noyce and his friends Joe Kretchmer and John Cox (when he removed the pipe from his mouth, you knew the pitch you were to follow him up would be really hard), and they gave us boys a fabulous introduction to roped rock climbing. Noyce was at the time editor of the Climbing Guides to the Snowdon district; his preface to 'Tryfan and Glyder Fach', started 'In 1781 Pennant had climbed Glyder Fach and stood on the cantilever near the summit', which endeared him to our family.

My father had been a keen climber; he took Mum on an Alpine climbing honeymoon in Arolla, a sacrifice which typified Mum's attitude to the marriage. By the time I was into my teens, he was becoming scared of heights, so we never really climbed together. But we did have some memorable hut-to-hut walking holidays in the Alps; from Mittenwald over the Birkkarspitze to Innsbruck; up Habicht; and in soft snow up the Marmolata (where the snow bridge over a crevasse collapsed, luckily under someone else). Memorably, he hired a guide who took Marion and me up the south face of the Sass Songher, our first introduction to the fabulous dolomite rock climbing, with edelweiss lining our descent.

While courting Camilla, I took her up the Milestone Buttress, and appreciated the merit of Nigel's test. Camilla also did other climbs, notably Grooved Arete (VD+) on the East face of Tryfan, with its famous knights move near the top; Spiral Stairs; and (with her brother Neil) Holly Tree Wall in Langdale. We also did a climb near Bettws y Coed, started and finished quite quickly, and all the while Chris Bonnington was stuck on the next-door route. But after having babies, Camilla lost enthusiasm for rock climbing, as women do.

In 1981 we joined with Chris & Nick and took our families to the Brenta Dolomites. The North ridge of the Crozzon di Brenta towers above Madonna di Campiglio like the prow of a huge battleship. It is a 1000m Grade IV rock climb, and Jeremy (16), Donald (15) and I did it in a day, starting at 6 am. We spent all day alone on this huge face, with the sun going in and out and loose stones rattling down below. We took it in turns, but my memory is of Don leading and Jem bringing up the rear with the rucksack. The top half of the prow is split by a giant chimney; chimneying up the back of this was dark and icy, but less exposed. After 12 hours climbing, we escaped left out of the chimney and found ourselves on the top, a satisfyingly remote pinnacle with just room for an emergency bivouac hut and a marked helicopter landing pad.

But the easy way off we had expected did not exist! In gathering darkness, we scrabbled around before returning to spend a (very comfortable) night in the 2m x 2m hut. Next morning it took us five hours to get down to a path; on this crowded planet, we had never spent a night so far from humanity.

I returned to climbing in 1985 with a week's camping with Nigel in Torridon, where we met a man in the middle of becoming the first to climb all the Scottish Munro's and Corbetts in one calendar year, and listened to cuckoos all day and snipe stotting at dusk. I mounted Foinaven and Arkle, in cloud in a single day, with my 'compass' being the noise from the navy's prolonged bombardment of Cape Wrath a few miles to the North. Years later when we organised a family holiday in KinlochRannoch, a party of us climbed Schiehallion, the mountain they used to make a first estimate of the earth's weight. Using a bicycle, I also climbed Ben Alder, a remote Munro. My tally of Munros is into double figures.

In 1986, Andrew Hoy, Tim Unmack and I set out to climb Mont Blanc (4987m), 200 years after the first ascent. I had some alpine experience, the other two did not - and it showed. We hired crampons in Chamonix, and took the rack railway up to Montenvers for a practice outing. The unfolding views of the Drus, the Verte, the Grandes Jorasses, were magnificent, but Tim was asleep, or ill, a problem which persisted. We walked up the Mer de Glace towards the Couvercles hut, jumping over narrow crevasses and skirting wide ones. Andrew and I stopped and waited for Tim. When he did not come, we wandered slowly back peering down crevasses. He was definitely behind us - perhaps he had gone back down.

We went slowly back and down to the Mountain Rescue Outfit in Chamonix, where the official was sanguine. 'We lose 40 bodies a year and find 40 - not the same bodies, you understand'. He made contact with the Couvercles hut and established that Tim had arrived there, cursing us for not waiting for him. It remained unclear how Tim could have passed us both on a flat river of ice 500m wide without our seeing him.

After a break for bad weather, we set off up Mont Blanc. The Gouter hut is the best start point, but in this bicentenary year it was fully booked for weeks ahead; so we stayed at the Tete Rousse hut 600m lower. We started at 4.0, up to the Gouter hut at 7.0, over the Dome de Gouter to the Vallot refuge, and got to the top at midday, the last party of the day to do so. The last 200m was along the ridge of an ice roof. There was a slot along the ridge, along which other parties had tramped, but it would have been easy to topple out in the strong and gusting wind, and no stopping once you started sliding. To save weight, we had left the rope behind. Andrew and I walked, but Tim crawled.

Conditions were excellent, and the descent to the Gouter hut was delightful. But the last part down to the Tete Rousse hut, a mixture of boulders and melting ice, required care. Andrew slid 50m down a bottomless ice gully but stopped himself in time. We got back to the hut at 6.0 pm, and I think the guardian was impressed with our day; 3132m to 4847m is 1715m up and down in quite thin air.

In 1987 Stephen Badger organised an expedition to climb Mount Kackar (3932m) and Mount Ararat (5172m) in Eastern Turkey; Jo Carey and I got to the top of both peaks. I have described that very successful expedition separately, but will repeat one anecdote. The summit book on Mt Kackar showed that few Europeans had climbed the mountain; the last Brits had been four years earlier and I remembered their names. Months later, I met one of them and was able to say: 'You will not know me. But you climbed Mt Kackar in 1983, and I was the next Brit to get to the top.'

In 1988, we marked our Silver Wedding by a family trip to Africa. During week two, we climbed Mt Kilimanjaro (5895m) the highest free-standing mountain in the world. Jem, Don and I got up to Uhuru Peak, while Camilla and Jess (aged 13) stopped at the Kibo hut (4800m). Later, I ended a week in the Seychelles by climbing Trois Freres and Coppolia, spectacular granite monoliths with Venus fly traps and long-tailed tropic birds, a memorable final day away from the crowds. This holiday has also been described elsewhere.

We marked Camilla's birthday by a walking holiday in Madeira with Paul and Mireille Ellington. After 100m on the first day, Paul said: 'These new boots are so painful that I can walk no further.' Mireille said: 'Take them off, dear.' They swapped boots and walked happily for the rest of the fortnight.

In between bigger expeditions, I kept returning to Snowdonia. Once I walked from the LUMC hut at Gwern y Gof Uchaf under Tryfan over to Pen y Pass, round the Snowdon horseshoe and back again, a long day. I had one winter weeknd up there, with snow down to 1500 feet. On Saturday, I did Tryfan, Glyder Fach, Glyder Fawr, Carnedd Llewellyn and Carnedd Dafydd. Then on the Sunday I climbed Snowdon by the Crib Goch arête, in superb alpine conditions, except that I had no crampons or ice axe. The snow conditions prevented me getting down to Pen y Pass, so I walked precariously down the icy railway line to Llanberis. As I learned later, the then president of the Climbers Club had fallen to his death off Crib Goch the day before.

Here is a dream. Take the night sleeper to Fort William and get out at Corrour. After the train has rattled round the corner, there is no building and no other person in sight. Walk down to Loch Treig and on up the stream facing you. After six hours, when you can look down into the Spean valley, turn left and ascend Stob Choire Claurigh (1176 m). This is the east end of a high ten-mile ridge whose west end is Ben Nevis (1343 m). Follow the ridge, camping somewhere along its length, to Ben Nevis, and then down any path to reach Fort William in time to catch the night sleeper south.

I tried twice to realise this dream, the first with Stephen Badger as part of our training for the Mount Ararat trip. But low cloud forced us to walk round the south side of the ridge, and then climb Ben Nevis by the standard path the next day. (That was the occasion I met a German in a yellow anorak who greeted me with the alarming question: 'Do you believe in God?'). The second time, I went alone and camped half way along the ridge. I spent that night five miles from my nearest human neighbour - what reader can claim to have done that? But next morning my stamina let me down; I spent all day getting down to Spean Bridge, and caught the train home from there. I would like to hear from anyone who does complete the route I dreamed of.

Back in Snowdonia, in later years with Paul and Mireille, I tramped the Glyders and the Carneddau. I had a weekend with Martin Everett, and Jess, and Alice Wrangham and we got badly chilled in wet driving cloud on the summit of Moel Siabod. Jess and I climbed Flying Buttress on Dinas Cromlech. With Francis and Carol Darwin, I climbed Elidyr Fawr to complete my collection of Welsh 'Munros'.

With Jo Carey, Anna Vaudrey and John and Jennie Wiggins, whom I had met on the Ararat expedition, I walked round Mont Blanc starting at Les Houches. After rain for the first half hour, we had a glorious ten days. From Les Contamines, it was fun to look up at the route Andrew, Tim and I had taken a few years earlier. Then four days along the Val Veny along the South side of the massif, a wonderful wall with glaciers tumbling down. After six days, the others gave up and I went on with Alasdair Sutherland, till he succumbed to the charms of two American girls and I finished the circuit alone. A magnificent tenth and final day took me from Argentieres over Le Brevent and down, down to Les Houches. Although the circuit of Mont Blanc is a fine expedition, there is a lot of up hill and down dale; I preferred going up the mountain to going round it.

In about 1994 with the same group, I went climbing on the West coast of America. After a scary rock climb north of Vancouver, we drove south. But on reaching the US border, I found I had lost my passport. So, while the rest of the party climbed Mt Baker (and got benighted), I stayed with Kate Hill in Vancouver. Later, I rejoined them and we climbed Shuksan by a circuitous route that involved roped ice and rock climbing.

Finally, the Wiggins and I climbed Mt Rainier (14410 ft), a dull volcano, but with fine views of the string of Californian volcanoes down to Mt St Helens which had recently exploded. On the way down the huge slushy snowfield that covers the dome, I put a crampon point through my calf and had to be taken to hospital, an American experience. Once they had established that I would pay, the treatment was good. But they covered their backs by insisting that I keep the leg up for six weeks; totally unnecessary as it was a minor wound. I had found the two mountain expeditions extremely tiring, and realised it was time to scale back.

One of the pleasures of being a European Patent Attorney was the need to make regular visits to the European Patent Office in Munich. I knew Munich and Garmisch Partenkirchen from student days, when I had climbed the Alpspitze by the easy route and failed to get up the Zugspitze. In the 90's, I started to combine business with pleasure. I took one client up the Alpspitze; and David Goodchild (from Alcan) over a high shoulder of the Zugspitze; it seemed a good way of bonding, even if one lost one's case at the EPO.

The Zugspitze (Germany's highest peak, 2963m) by the Hollentalklamm is a magnificent route. After two hours walk up the ferocious klamm, one comes out into the Hollental, and there is a comfortable climbers hut. Next morning it is straight up the north face of the Zugspitze (1500m height gain) with 600m of fixed ropes and ladders including some alarming pegs by means of which one walks across a steep bottomless slab. After six hours of struggling upwards on rock and ice, one comes to a little gate, and suddenly there are tourists and ice creams and three floors of restaurants and balconies. I took the train down and got home to 51 Cator Road within ten hours.

The Alpspitze has a fine North face with three klettersteig - routes with fixed ropes and ladders and suitable for solo scramblers. I had done two of them - and then, on my very last visit to Munich three months before I retired, did the third; a perfect day, no one else around, a dusting of fresh snow on the top, and I got back to Munich by 5 pm in time for a pre-trial conference with Ian Hesslewood (Amersham, and a bridge partner).

After retirement, I had one final expedition, with Christopher MacRae and Charles and Sophia Wrangham, to the Hindu Kush. In three weeks we walked from Chitral to Gilgit, camping every night. We crossed three high passes, Shah Jinali, Zindikar and Darkot, put one foot into Afghanistan at the Boroghil pass, and saw one other foreign couple. Again, I have written about that fine expedition elsewhere.

Following Thomas Pennant's example, I resolved to put as many Pennants as possible on the cantilever stone near the summit of Glyder Fach. So to mark my 60th birthday, I invited my siblings, their children and partners, and their children's children to join me in Snowdonia, and twenty seven of us stayed in the Glan Aber hotel in Bettws y Coed. On 31 May, Camilla, Flora, Jess, Omar and I climbed up past the Devils Kitchen and on up Y Garn in thick cloud. The mountains had got larger and changed their shape since I strode them as a youth. I missed the steep path off Y Garn, we wandered round for two hours while Flora chased sodden sheep, and were late for dinner.

On Saturday 1 June 1999, parties attacked Glyder Fach from several different angles. Seaton's party comprising Julian, Rachel, Jennifer, Said, Adam, Ambar and Samir did not quite make it; but eighteen of us got to the top (Jeremy, Omar, Jessica, Alison, Lucy, Mary, Alice and Helen from the A5 over Tryfan and up Bristly ridge; Chris, Nick, David and Arnold from Pen y Pass; Donald, Allie, Jemima and Jack from Gwern y Gof Isaf; and Marion and I from Ogwen). But the cloud was down, there was a strong wind and driving rain/hail, and it was COLD. Parties arrived at intervals and there was much hanging around; I remember Jemima and Jack loud in their misery. I got fourteen onto the cantilever stone, which was slippery and dangerous with angular boulders fifteen feet below, and someone took a photograph. We drank champagne from plastic mugs, slogged back down to the hotel, and felt terrific after a hot bath.

In the seven years since that picnic, I have not revisited Snowdonia, and doubt that I could now get up Tryfan. Writing this has brought happy memories of many kinds of old friends.

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