I do have to remind myself sometimes that I intended this blog to be about two things: conquering anxiety, and walking. Or more specifically, Munro climbing. I realise the majority of my posts so far have been about the former, and perhaps less of the latter. Now I don't see that as a bad thing - we might differ in opinion over which is harder - anxiety, or mountain climbing. I find them both very hard - ESPECIALLY WHEN COMBINED - but both equally worth discussion.
I knew I picked a dreadful time to start Munro bagging. Or not bagging, as the case may be. September was reasonably pleasant in terms of weather, especially after an awful summer. Surely a good time to start some serious walking? Well, yes, if there weren't other commitments to fulfil. As the weeks have flown by (tempus fugit) the chances to climb Munro Number Two have come and gone.
Schiehallion is clearly not meant to be. After the wee bump, we planned to try again a week or so later. But the day we planned was - of course - the day Scotland decided to remind us we were heading full throttle towards winter. A forecast of 100mph winds at the top, snow, and a wind chill factor of minus 17 was just enough to put us off.
Just enough to put us off
Schiehallion that is. Not enough to put us off the Pentlands. I think we - me, Mum, Dad, and Dave - were in the zone for a walk of some sort. Well, I think some of us were more in the zone than others, but thats understandable given the weather conditions of the day.
We set off from Ninemileburn, having left one car there and the other at Flotterstone. We went up, up, up, through the mud, fighting the wind. There may not have been 100mph winds, but they had to have been at least 60mph. However, the sky was blue, the air was crisp, the scenery was stunning.
There are a few themes developing with the walks that I do. They are always
always so much tougher than I seem to be prepared for. They always test me so much more than I think they will. Mentally and physically they are extremely challenging.
But, crucially, they are always worth it. There is an immense feeling, when you are struggling up a hill and you just don't think you can go any further, but you just have to focus on getting it done. And the relief floods through you when you do conquer that hill. It is a feeling that overwhelms you and consumes you and it is THAT that keeps you coming back for more.
We began with a relatively gentle incline up Braid Law, but with the Kips coming into view ahead of us, it became all too clear that things were going to get more difficult. Fortunately the wind was behind us, so as challenging as the conditions were, we were all grateful that we weren't walking into it. Although it seemed everyone else was - more brave than or us, or just more foolish. Both East Kip and West Kip were tough going. I found myself pondering whether it is more difficult to do one giant peak, or 5 or 6 smaller ones. I'm still not sure. They have different dynamics, and both have pros and cons. This was more of a marathon than a sprint, and there wasn't much opportunity to celebrate on the top of a peak (when is there ever?), because the wind was so brutal. We managed a great compromise though; trudging on over the top of each hill, down a bit...down a bit more...find some shelter from the wind (nigh impossible on occasions!) and then reward ourselves.
Kips conquered. Onwards to Scald Law, the highest peak in the Pentlands at 1898 feet. Just Carnethy Hill and Turnhouse Hill ahead of us...but the legs were already feeling weak from the downs, just as much as the ups. My memorable moment has to be powering up Carnethy after a chocolate break. Don't know where the burst of energy came from (well, presumably the chocolate, but it was out of character) but I ran with it. Not literally, but almost. The wind helped push us up and there was a big sense of achievement about it all.
Another memorable moment was the summit of Carnethy Hill. Made it to the top and found some stone cairns. Well, not really cairns, looked more like craters of stone. It was SO windy, so I plonked myself down in one of said craters, which provided a little bit of shelter. Mum, Dad, and Dave followed close behind, and we all sat. But the wind chill was so biting that it was impossible to sit for long without getting cold.
I got up, thinking the others would follow. The wind was so strong it was almost impossible to stand. When I looked back, this is what I saw:
I love it! Three wee munchkins sheltering in a crater!
Finally, Turnhouse Hill, and views of the final descent. The wind was ferocious and at one moment we were crawling on hands and knees, unable to stand. I don't know how many times Mum reached for her camera and a glove blew away - but we always managed to retrieve it! Who knows what we lost in the Pentlands that day, but we also gained so much. I certainly did.
