The gritty grafters who rewrote the story of UK climbing

Before performance fabrics and curated Instagram feeds, there were adventurous young lads from backstreets and redbrick terraces who found their adventure not on the cover of a brochure, or even in the ruins of post-war urban decay, but in the shadowed cracks of northern crags.

When you try to locate the roots of UK climbing, two names loom large: Don Whillans and Joe Brown.

Their story is as much about class, character and culture as it is about carabiners and climbs. Though we never really used them as a muse, their relevance to what we try to do with Hikerdelic is staring us in the face. They started out as ordinary people doing extraordinary things with humour, heart and a little bit of attitude. These weren't privileged explorers, the type of which seemed to prevail back then and indeed now. They were from humble beginnings in the industrial conurbation around Manchester. They didn't see barriers to entry, they saw opportunity. 

Joe Brown was born in 1930 in Ardwick, just to the south of Manchester city centre. His dad died when he was still in short trousers which meant his mother raised seven kids on next to nothing. It's a story common of the era and the area. 

Joe left school early and started working as an apprentice plumber, slipping between jobs and climbing scenes with the resourcefulness that was inherent in inner city kids back then. Opportunity didn't always present itself to those in the less wealthy areas of the city, which meant those who wanted to achieve something different with their life were forced to look harder for their chance. Like former Coronation Street stalwart Billy Tarmey and guitar genius Johnny Marr, Joe refused to allow his Ardwick roots hold him back from becoming known and respected at the thing he had natural aptitude for.

Don Whillans came from Salford, the city that shares a close border and core characteristics with Manchester yet has a proud history of its own. Born in 1933, Don was apprenticed as a plumber too. The parallels between the two men are uncanny: born a few miles apart, same trade, same fire in the belly. Don was said to carried more of a hard edge, however. At times abrasive, Whillans was uncompromising to a fault, and while physically and mentally strong, he was known to like a drink and smoke, which is probably what led to his demise from a heart attack aged just 52.

Until Brown and Whillans came along, climbing in Britain was dominated by a particular crowd. It was all gentleman’s clubs and home counties vowels, Cambridge graduates with waxed moustaches and maps of the Alps. But in the 1950s, something shifted. Brown and Whillans emerged onto the scene with cheap bikes, rolled-up sleeves and an attitude more at one with Manchester than the mountains. Their reputation as outliers helped them stand out in the climbing scene as characters. Above all else though, they were excellent, and adventurous climbers.

Joe Brown earned the nickname "The Human Fly." His ascents of climbs like Cenotaph Corner in North Wales and The Skull were done in battered boots with little more than instinct and a sense of balance that bordered on the supernatural. He climbed in his own style, fluid and flexible.

Whillans, meanwhile, carried a more imposing frame. Stocky and strong, he took on savage routes with a mixture of brute force and tactical cunning. He co-developed gear (like the famous Whillans harness) and tackled climbs others simply didn’t dare to try, and not just in locations in the UK. Most famously on Annapurna’s South Face in 1970, he and Dougal Haston made the first successful summit via that route. Both Brown and Whillans regularly climbed with the renowned Chris Bonington.

What made Brown and Whillans legends wasn’t just their climbing, though that was impressive. It was their attitude. These weren’t men chasing medals. They weren’t fussed about records. They just wanted to climb, and live life large while doing it. Their stories are steeped in pub lore and dry humour. Whillans was famously asked by a journalist how he justified the risk of high-altitude expeditions. “Well,” he said, “you’re never more than a day away from a pint.” 

It’s easy to romanticise the past, but Brown and Whillans weren’t saints. They could be spiky and in doing so they undoubtedly smashed a hole in the class ceiling of British climbing.

They proved you didn’t need money or connections to be at the top. They paved the way for working-class climbers, hikers, and adventurers who didn’t see a route up the mountain for themselves. They showed that if you had a bus fare, a pair of boots, and a bit of attitude, you could take on the rocks too.

They were of the city and of the hills, showing a duality that wasn't previously there. It's this mentality that makes them so interesting to us here at Hikerdelic. Their stories show the most meaningful outdoor experiences don’t need ultra-tech gear. You just need to turn up and have the right attitude towards altitude.

Joe Brown passed away in 2020, aged 89, after a life packed with climbing, invention and understated brilliance. Don Whillans died in 1985, but together with Brown left behind a legacy that seems to grow every time their tales are retold.

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