Taking Ben Nevis - 8 miles (Altitude 1344m)

As the highest mountain in the British Isles at 1344m, Ben Nevis is a hugely popular destination for trekkers and climbers. On different sides of the mountain, lie various routes of different levels of difficulty. We approached our ascent from the south side, on the easy trekking route, known as the Pony Track.

We crossed the wide valley and began the ascent after the first fence.



The weather forecast had been rather optimistic. In reality, the weather conditions were less than ideal. It began as being rather damp and chilly, and as we moved further up the mountain, visibility became quite dire with fog and rain. We could just about make out the valley floor between clouds of fog.



Here, the visibility got pretty bad. I could barely see ten yards ahead. The rain got heavier, until my trousers and bag were soaked, and water was running off my eyebrows and chin.



For a brief moment, the winds blew a clearing in the clouds. We could see Lochan Meall an t-Suidhe, which is a little lake nestled high in the mountain range itself. Beyond that, is the elbow formed by the confluence of Loch Linnhe with Loch Eil.



At around 1000m, Dr. J and Jo vetoed and headed back down. I don't blame them at all. The weather and visibility were poor. We were soaked and it was getting quite late in the day.

However, Ali and I decided to push on. I think at the back of my mind, I wasn't sure when we'd head this way again. Though my legs were aching, I kept telling myself I'm pretty lucky to have legs and to be climbing up this mountain. I think it's partly my innate pigheadedness. I really really wanted to get to the top, despite the pain.

Cairns marked the last couple of zig-zag turns near the top, and also to help keep walkers on the path.



Yeah, I don't really want to be wandering off that ledge down the steep fall of the North face. This side is where the climbers emerge, after hauling themselves up the huge buttresses that overlook Coire Leis.



The mist made the summit look suitably spooky, especially with this war memorial, the highest in Britain. Just behind it, lie the old ruins from the Observatory. We didn't stay long, just long enough to share a dram of whisky with a few random hikers.



It's interesting that the etymological meaning of "Ben Nevis" is that it's an anglicisation of the Gaelic name Beinn Nibheis. While beinn is the most common Gaelic word for "mountain", Nibheis is variously understood, though the name is commonly translated as "malicious" or "venomous mountain".



According to the wiki, an alternative interpretation is also that Beinn Nibheis derives from beinn-neamh-bhathais, from Neamh "heavens, clouds" and bathais "top of a man's head". A literal translation would therefore be "the mountain with its head in the clouds", though "mountain of Heaven" is also frequently given. On our way down, a gust of wind blew the clouds aside, cleared our vision and we caught a glimpse of Loch Linnhe. It was quite breathtaking.



It took ages to get down the mountain. With wet, slippery rocks, I found myself moving with great caution. After what seemed like forever, we finally reached the stream we crossed on the way up.



As dusk fell, that beautiful pre-sunset glow hit the hills. It would be another couple of hours before we hit ground, got out of our wet clothes and foraged for a late dinner.





For more details on the Ben Nevis trail, check out this website.

To the Highlands

We were up at the ghastly hour of 3.30am. Ali roared up on his bike not long after, and set off for Stansted Airport. It reminded me a little of the road trips I used to take with my parents. My parents used to have holidays where we would drive up either the east or west coast of Malaysia. In order to avoid the rush of traffic at the Singapore-Malaysian causeway, we would set off hours before dawn. I used to get a little excited as we'd have to sneak around so as not to wake the neighbours.

The roads were fairly empty on the way to Stansted, but the airport itself was churning as expected. It surprises others how much I dislike Stansted in this state. Airports to me, should be quiet sanctums in the early hours. Sacred stopway for those of us who like to slip in half light between places and realities. This Stansted is no better than a mall, packed with bargain hunters and hangabouts, like myself.

We got into Prestwick and Jo picked us up a little later. After one or two stops where we dithered a little longer than recommended, we were on our way to Fort William.

Just shortly after noon, we pulled into the car park that looked up towards Ben Nevis.

Ben Nevis, here we come

All packed and ready...just need to get a couple of hours of sleep before we make the bleary, weary-eyed journey to Stansted, that human campsite of an airport. From there, we'll fly via Ryan Air to Preswick Airport near Glasgow.

Then we head up Ben Nevis. As the highest mountain in the British Isles, this is going to require quite a bit of sweat and panting.

So if you've been thinking about donating, please do! It's all going for a great cause.

Mayar winds - 8.77 miles (Altitude 1030m)

A good night's sleep can work miracles. When I woke up in the morning, I found my legs worked! Unfortunately, the dog took a while to budge from the front of the fireplace.

It took a while, but enough coffee did the trick and we set off for the day. We drove a little further south this time, a rather pleasant but at times nerve-wrecking journey of twists and turns through country lanes.

From the car park, the walk up towards the peak of Mayar began with a long upwards trail by a river that gently twisted around through fir forests. The sun, which shone so pleasantly when we started off, disappeared, but the air was still fresh and clear.

An old couple strolled downwards towards us, and their dog, a friendly, bouncy thing raced towards me, skidded to a stop and sat on my foot, looking up at me with big eyes and a tennis ball in my mouth. He looked just like Bart. and that he was used to getting many pats.

After a few miles, we went through a large wooden kissing fence, and emerged into the valley of Corrie Fee. There were audible surprised gasps all round.



This reserve is located south of the Cairngorms National Park and was sculpted thousands of years ago by ice which left behind corries, cliffs, moraines and a meandering river. Loved by botanists and nature-lovers, this valley is a haven for scarce arctic-alpine plants, birds and animals that are able to cope with the challenges of mountain life.

We walked along the cheerfully bubbling river, across rocky paths and began our climb up.

The path is much narrower, uneven and at times, with large rocks that we had to scramble over. But stopping for breath was quite pleasant, as the view backwards are quite magnificent. Panting for breath was quite embarrassing though, as sheep regaled me with pitiful looks as they bounded up and down the rocky edges.





Round a rocky bend, we spied the earlier origin of the river - a waterfall tumbling downwards. The climb got harder as the winds blew harder. This also had to be the day I forgot my fleece jumper. I put on my waterproof jacket instead, which did keep me warmer, but at times threatened to make a parachute out of me. I had to clutch at a patch of grass several times.





The winds had started to howl by this hour. We stopped in a crag to hide out while eating our lunch.

Over several edges, we finally reached a broad smooth rolling plain. This part of the climb was much easier on the legs, though the winds were definitely doing an Aesop's tale on us - trying to blow the clothes off our backs.

There was some jubilation at the top, though we did not stay long.



The winds were so loud we could barely hear each other.



Across, we spotted the strangest cloud formation. I remember studying cloud formations in Geography but don't remember see one like that!



On the way down, we spotted a patch of ice and snow. Ali wandered over and did a stomp on it, shouting "I am global warming!"



Climbing downwards was tricky but easier than we feared, so we made it down fairly quickly. Back on level ground, the winds ceased, which was relief to the ears as well.



A conference of sheep seemed to bade us farewell approvingly.



We ended the day with a good BBQ as deserved.

Keen on Keen - 9.95 miles (Altitude 939m)

Phil's parents had kindly let us stay in their home while they were away. The cottage was like a little labyrinth where you'd turn a corner and discover another room tucked charmingly away. The gardens surrounded the house, so from every window, we could see outside where the flowers were in bloom.

This first morning, it was a friendly, chaotic flap around the little cottage. After an hour of general sleepy nods and grunts all round, with pleading moans for coffee, we were finally booted up and ready to go. I had even got quite industrious and helped make packed sandwiches for everyone.

We drove for just under an hour to near Edzell into Glen Esk, and into the car park at Auchronie. Today, we would attempt our very first munro, Mount Keen.

"The Munros are the highest of Scotland's mountains, 284 mountain tops named after the man who first catalogued them, Sir Hugh Munro. The Munros are among the finest mountains in Scotland."

From the car park, we strolled gently through a small area of cottages and forest.





Not long after, we emerged into glorious sunshine. The sky was the brightest, truest blue and the sun shone valiantly down. It was like suddenly being alive.



Along the river on the left of the path, we could see pure white horses running, as if they'd discarded their fantastical conical horns with their speed.



This part of the walk was very pleasant if long. For almost 3 miles, we walked along fairly level land, occasionally spying a pheasant or a rabbit. A lone little house sat on route, we walked past it and it was empty. We wondered who lived there. When I peeked in through the window (the curtain was drawn) I could see chairs, tables, beds and cupboards, like an ordinary living room. Except no one was home.





Our first landmark was the Queen's Well, which was built at the base of the route up Mount Keen to provide water to Queen Victoria's party. We began to ascend by the NW track past the Knowe of Crippley.





The path was fairly wide, I think it was built for royal carriages. However it was covered with loose gravel and rocks, which actually made it quite hard work climbing up. By the time we got to this height, the view was starting to get splendid, we were starting to get very hot and sweaty.



At this point, Dog (starring Amber) was doing just fine. Hot and panting, but fine. We started thinking of songs with the word "dog" in it.

How much is that doggy in the window?

Nothing but a hound dog...



Onwards and upwards, our pace slowed to a crawl. I had learnt my lesson about false summits, so I knew not to despair when round a bend, the peak was revealed to be quite a long way off.



I paused mid-step with boot in air, I nearly crushed this little delicate vistor.



After a few false summits, we reached a spill of rock formations that had been carved into rough steps. A last push, and we finally reached the top. A stone pillar marked the highest point. All climbers would scramble up it. After all, one had to be at the highest point indeed.

The view was spectacular all around. Distant peaks and rolling hills looked interconnected, valleys and blue sky seemed to move in unison under the clouds.





Lunch was partaken at the peak. We were pretty ravenous. Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps it was the thirst. My excuse was that my body craved salt. But whichever the reason, we thought it'd be a great idea to celebrate by eating corn chips and salsa.

The route down was longer and tougher than we expected. Walking downhill continuously was strenuous on the legs. We were also parched (dang those corn chips!) and ran out of water.



But the situation didn't become dire until Dog simply sat down and wouldn't move an inch. No waving of treats, whistling, calling or cajoling would get him to lift another furry paw. She gazed at us disdainfully, only artfully shifting into the coolness of someone's shadow.

We sat on the track across from her, and wondered what to do. Put her in rucksack? She was a little too large and would probably not be too happy. Carry her? I tried that but couldn't see my feet to walk downhill on the loose gravel and rocks. It was most perplexing.

Dog-tired, eh?

Doggone it!



Finally Ali (who doesn't actually like dogs) marched up to her, picked her up and tucked her under an arm and resumed his stride downwards. The pooch had the nerve to peer over his shoulder and smirk at those of us dragging tired legs.



It was a very long day, we were tired from the heat and climb. As it would be, it was a Sunday evening and everything was closed. We had no food, and the nearest Chinese takeout was 33 miles away! We made one last desperate ditch at the petrol kiosk where we picked up an unholy amount of processed food for dinner.

Pizza, while watching the rest of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Not too bad. Oh, and the same falling asleep bit soonafter too.

Preamble: A Flurry of Socks

Ryan Air has very strict specifications for luggage. We chose not to check in our bags for speed (and also cos they charge a higher fee) which meant we had one bag that had to be 55 x 25 x something very thin which I can't remember, and it couldn't not weigh over 10kg.

I spent the day measuring bags with a measuring tape. It's a miracle the zips could close. Apart from wet weather gear, walking gear, First Aid kit, map, civilian clothing and 2 x books (my excuse is I would need at least one on a normal everyday basis, here I'm going to the outskirts of civilisation!), a variety of chargers and toiletries, I kept things as simple as possible.

Thank goodness for Nepal - after wearing the same clothes and not showering for 10 days, this should be fine.

I'm finally packed. A last minute round of tasks - water the plants, check emails, wash dishes.

I arrived at Johnny's to see him trundling between rooms, and there was a flurry of socks and shirts.

"Arg," he said, "my bag is 1 cm too long."

We sat in the front room watching short documentaries. I refuse to weigh my bag. I simply can't face unpacking and packing it again.

I know it's nuts but I've only just looked closely at the itinerary. As photographer and general cheerleader, I tend to leave details of planning and navigation to those better suited.

Mount Keen

Miles : 11 miles
Ascent: 730m

Lochnagar aka Cac Carn Beag

Miles: 17.1 miles
Ascent: 1155m

OH MY GOD - SEVENTEEN!

Wish us luck.