twelve down, 270 to go!

Time is literally flying by. It's almost the end of May but yet it still feels like springtime. There's a chill in the air, and people keep pondering when "summer" will arrive. The sun remains shy in the sky, and confident clouds dominate.

2013 has brought a lot of excitement thus far, and continues to deliver. I realise my focus has shifted slightly from Munro-bagging to point-to-point walking, although of course my intention to complete the Munros has never wavered. It's finding the right day, the right frame of mind, the right motivation...often there's too many reasons not to go.

So when someone else picks a date and makes a plan, it is a dream come true. Happy to tag along, I think my most anxiety-free adventures are going to be as part of a group. However I'm also very keen to solo-bag too, as those are the real tests, the real anxious ambling!

The plan for Saturday was in place way before the forecast predicted how nice a day it was going to be. The prep-work, the pub-planning and the proper planning had all been taken care of. We (mum, dad, Alun, Moira and me) left West Linton shortly after 10am, surrounded by bright blue, cloudless skies. The roads north were busy, the Bank Holiday weekend and the weather bringing everyone out. We made it to Queen's View around mid-day - the view as stunning as always.

 We met Boyd, Felicity and Joe at Queen's View, and our group was almost complete.

After a leisurely tea and scone break, we continued our journey west. More memories came back of touring days on this delighfully narrow windy road, until we reached Tummel Bridge and turned right towards Kinloch Rannoch, and I was into a part of Scotland I'd never been before.

And it was incredible. A beautiful drive on a beautiful day. Looking behind us back to Schiehallion was amazing, I'd never seen it from that angle and appreciated just how pointy it is! Schiehallion would be a good marker for me for the rest of the day (and night!), giving me a little perspective on where we were.

We parked the cars about a mile and a half short of Rannoch Station, where our path would loop back round in almost exactly 12 hours time. Boots were tied, bags were packed, and soon we were strolling towards the station. The weather was simply amazing, and the views were already incredible.

We made it to Rannoch Station in plenty of time for the 3.09pm train.

Carn Dearg in the distance

On the train we met the ninth and final member of our group, Gwen, who'd been on the train since Glasgow. It was, of course, a stunning train journey. West Highland Way memories came back, and it was even the same ticket inspector on the train as it had been on Easter Friday when I travelled south on this line.

We got off at the next stop, Corrour, the starting point of our walk. I was blown away by the beauty of our surroundings - it is definitely a place I will be returning to soon!

Train leaving Corrour

First things first, it was time for sustenance. That scone seemed like a long time ago, and although it was 3.30pm, this stop would be lunch and dinner. I think we'd all been looking forward to sampling the local delicacies at the Corrour Station restaurant, and they certainly didn't disappoint. The place is amazing and comes very highly recommended. Not only was the food delicious, the craft beer was flowing and the service was fantastic. We all enjoyed carrot, parsnip and honey soup, followed for most by venison burgers.

I managed to get a sneaky peak of the rooms too - definitely going back to stay sometime!

It was with a slight reluctance we managed to drag ourselves away, although at least outside was as good as inside. There were lots of walkers sitting out on the grass, and it did feel a bit strange to be setting off when most were done for the day. At 5.40pm, our walk began.

heading to Loch Ossian, courtesy of Boyd

Soon we left the track to the Loch Ossian Hostel, and headed up a path. With every step the panoramic views opened up around us. Stopping to look back was particularly popular, as the views of the Nevis Range and the Mamores got better and better.

Soon we decided to stop for a wee break, as we were making good time and wanted to enjoy the sunshine and blue skies whilst we could.

We picked Peter's Rock, although we might have to rename it after Alun:

In trying to find out more about the name, I did find this picture, but the plaque is no longer there unfortunately. However, we took more than a moment to stop and enjoy our surroundings.

(photo courtesy of mum)

Shortly after leaving Peter's Rock, we left the path, and began tramping our way up through the heather. It was tough going in places, with care taken not to step in any holes. Again we stopped quite frequently, catching our breath and enjoying the tremendous views.

(photo courtesy of Boyd)

looking across to Buachille Etive Mhor

We were making our way roughly along a ridge, before the last 'up' to the summit.

the summit ahead

can anyone spot my dad?

Gwen and I picked our way over the rocks, with the summit seeming tantalisingly close. We tried to tiptoe past a ptarmigan, but it heard us, and flew off. I just managed to snap a photo of it as it disappeared towards the blue sky:

ptarmigan in the middle of the pic, honest

And shortly after this, Gwen and I reached the summit cairn of Carn Dearg - success! I bagged my twelfth Munro around 8.30pm on Saturday night, and was truly humbled by the incredible surroundings.

looking to Schiehallion

Felicity, Joe and Boyd reaching the summit

looking towards Blackwater Reservoir and the Buachille

Munro number 12!

Once all nine had reached the summit, we found a nice sheltered spot out of the wind. It was certainly chilly up there (apparently a wind chill factor of -1!). We hunkered down and out came bottles of whisky and plenty of chocolate. Perfect! Unfortunately we didn't get to watch the sunset, as the cloud had swept over in front.

our faithful leader

I was either snoozing or enjoying the whisky too much!

group shot!

Out of the wind it was just so quiet and peaceful up there. Had it been slightly warmer I think I could've stayed longer! However, we began our descent around 10pm, having almost given up on seeing the moon. We kept looking around for it to rise, but no sign. Then all of a sudden, as we were descending, a glimpse of reddy-orange peeked up above the mountains ahead. Hooray! It was a 'super moon', meaning it was closer to the earth than usual (certainly seemed that way when it appeared in front of our eyes!), and also that it was superb. Right Joe?

It seemed to rise so quickly. We reached for our cameras, but it was difficult to capture. This photo does not do it justice, but it was amazing!

That was my penultimate photo of the night, as soon darkness had descended. Head torches were a great help on our descent, but we all put our faith wholeheartedly in Alun, and followed his lead.

It was a tough descent in so many ways, with no path, not much light, and plenty of boggy and soggy bits. There were a few tumbles, a few tweaks, and a few unrepeatable words spoken.

Soon we'd reached the river we knew was coming. I have to say it was quite disconcerting hearing the roar of the water, having been completely surrounded by silence up to now (apart from the swear words that is). I could just make out some impressive tumbling waterfalls to my left, the white of the water visible in the darkness.

Thankfully the river was shallower further down, and we reached a point we could cross. This wasn't without drama, as tiredness had really set in by this point. We wondered where the bridge had gone, only to find it 100 metres ahead of us!

We trudged and trudged, and reached the cars around 2am, after an epic four hour descent. The moon got more and more impressive, and I thus forgave it for disappearing behind clouds for the latter part of the descent!

Massive well done to Alun and Boyd for driving back to the Borders - the three Macnabs in the back of Alun's car struggled to keep their eyes open so it must have been really tough to drive. Bizarrely, the drive home was mostly light, which was quite odd.

By the time we'd reached Nine Mile Burn to pick up mum's car, it was 4.30am, but it could have been the early afternoon, it was so light. My last photo of the trip was of the moon at 4.30am. Again it's not a great photo, but to stand and witness the moon so big and bright was just so special.

The Macnabs were home at 4.45am, and straight to bed, after confusing the dog.

Frustratingly I couldn't get to sleep right away, but I'm sure it wasn't long, and I next woke up at 11.30am! Even then I didn't feel I'd had enough sleep, so Sunday was a bit of a struggle. But the glow of achievement was enough to keep me going - so thrilled to have bagged my twelfth Munro but more so because of the style it was done.

This was an unforgettable experience. The day was incredible, the night even better. The food (all day) was just fantastic, the drink even better. The company and the banter was the best part, so thank you all. Huge thanks to Alun for all his planning, preparation, and phenomenal hill skills.

Can't wait for the next adventure!!

A drookit day in the Ochils!

I'd been looking forward to the 18th of May ever since last November, when I took up the Mountaineering Council of Scotland's offer of a navigation skills course and a year's membership.

My 'navigation skills' are pretty much non-existant. I'm not that great at reading a map, and I'm clueless when it comes to anything more technical than map-reading. It is for this reason that I've kept to the well-trodden paths, and straightforward Munros (well, that, and fear). I haven't been anywhere that has required any navigational skills whatsoever.

But that's not to say that I didn't think I should have those skills. I always feel that I should know more. I don't want to get into a situation that I can't get out of because I don't know the basics. In fact I think courses like the ones that the Mountaineering Council are running should be almost mandatory for those heading out into the hills.

Especially if you are like me, and a bit of a worrier. The panic I got myself into on Beinn Ghlas when the mist descended was enough to put me off solo-bagging for a long while.

So this course seemed perfect, and even though it may be a while before I need these skills put into action, having them is a massive confidence boost.

The day began at 9am at the Ochils Mountain Rescue Base, near Tillicoultry. We began with an hour of theory, and it seemed very daunting at first. There was so much to take in, and I felt very much a beginner. However, Heather Morning did a great job, especially telling us industry speak (like "red in the bed") rather than bombarding us with technical terms. Putting the skills into practice out in the hills would be the real challenge.

We made our way to Dollar and to the carpark at Castle Campbell, where the adventure would begin. I don't know this part of the world very well, and I was massively impressed with the Ochils, Dollar and the Castle.

Castle Campbell

Now, the forecast for today was pretty shocking, but so far it had been dry and cloudy. This was all about to change...

We made our way towards Kings Seat, via Bank Hill. The surroundings were lovely.

We put a few of our newly acquired skills into practice on the way to Bank Hill. Phew I thought, the weather is holding out after all. We passed a group of Duke of Edinburghers heading the same way as us. The views were nice, and we were entertained by Heather's dog, Milly.

Then. The weather took a massive turn for the worse.

It began to get extremely windy, to the point where bag covers were blowing off and Heather was shouting to be heard. Then the rain came - and battered us.

We ploughed on, heading up Kings Seat with gritted teeth, hoods up and heads down. At the top of Kings Seat the weather was at its worst - 45mph winds with sideways rain/hail that stung your face if you turned towards it. Heather tried her best to keep us informed about our route, but there was no way teaching was possible in that weather. It was no wonder she named our group 'the gnarly girls' - there were 7 of us ladies including Heather, and we were all determined to see it through.

On the way down the hill Heather told me it was the worst weather they'd had on a "summer" navigation course in the five years they'd been running. It was truly miserable! I slipped on the way down the hill, anxious to get to the safety of a valley.

The other group descending the hill on the right of this picture

Once we were off the hill, the rain stopped and the wind eased. We met the other half of the group who were going a different way to us, and they looked just as wet. Most of the gnarly girls were wet through their waterproofs, and there was an uncomfortably damp feeling about it all!

We stopped by the Burn of Sorrow, and a day like this was a fitting way to appreciate that title!

Lunch was guzzled, and soon we were heading off again, learning about handrailing, pacing, and walking on a bearing. We had a slight change of plan for the route in the afternoon, but the rain had finally stopped so we were able to learn lots.

It was certainly challenging, but I'm proud to have given it a go, and I'd feel more confident about all things navigational next time I'm out. That being said, I'll have to practice or I will forget it!

The afternoon was great fun, and eventually we made our way to Tillicoultry, where we were collected.

It was then a very damp and uncomfortable (and chilly!) drive back to Edinburgh, but the hot shower when I got home was just delightful.

Thanks so much to Heather Morning and the Mountaineering Council of Scotland - these courses are fantastic for getting people out in the hills, and giving them a bit more confidence when it comes to navigation.

I hope to put the lessons into practice soon - but hopefully not this weekend, when I'll place my trust in those more experienced! The plan for the weekend can be hinted at in two words, and I won't say anymore in case the weather puts paid to the plan. But keep an eye on the blog next week and you may hear a wee story about a....

Midnight. Munro.

A lovely day!

I always said I wouldn't blog unless I had something to blog about. On the weeks that I don't get out for a notable walk, I often have lots of things I'd like to blog about, but decide there is not enough of substance to actually type it out. Although I set up this blog to write about my Munro-bagging and how it was helping me overcome my anxiety, I did not set a time limit on the bagging. I intend to - and I will - conquer every peak over 3,000 feet in Scotland during my life - but I don't expect this to happen any time soon.

I planned to get longevity from this blog by making that an ongoing target. However I'm regularly asked when my next Munro will be, and I realise this blog has evolved from my original intentions into a blog about walking, the benefits of walking, and Scottish fresh air! I'm absolutely fine about that, so I hope my readers are too! I sometimes feel bad that I'm not bagging Munros quicker - but then I remind myself that there was never a time limit, and that if you stick with me, I will deliver. I don't intend to rush round the peaks - I intend to savour each one.

I feel I have evolved in myself in many ways - my horizons have been broadened and I appreciate far more than I did before. I realise how lucky I am to live in a country such as this, and I truly enjoy getting 'in amongst it', as it were. I have enjoyed my foray into long distance walking, and perhaps am starting to focus on this more than the Munros. But the Munros will always be there - I just need to be in the right place to conquer them.

So I have tried to resist blogging about the more mundane aspects of my life (I think) and would rather have a gap between posts than a story about my trip to the shops, or how I cleaned my flat.

This weekend was the first weekend in a while where literally nothing was planned. That was a nice feeling! And I didn't really intend to blog, but yesterday was just so full of material for here, I couldn't resist.

Dave and I decided - around mid-morning yesterday - to take a drive out west to Glengoyne. A tour guide collecting distillery vouchers on every visit soon makes for an unavoidable day of spending those hard-earned vouchers. So off we went towards Stirling, and unexpectedly I had a rush of nostalgic feelings. To go from driving up the M9 at least 4 times a week for years, to rarely going that way, it was surely inevitable that memories would return.

My Aunty and I always reminisce about the time a few years ago when we were driving up the A9 to Hopeman. When we reached the Broxden roundabout outside Perth I said, during a conversation about guiding, 'this is where Mary Queen of Scots died'. Que silence - confusion - and then clarity: 'in my story, in the morning, this is where Mary dies'. I would know if my timing was on or off if her head remained whilst waiting at the lights at the roundabout.

Driving anywhere in Scotland will bring back memories such as these, Stirling almost more than most places. So I wallowed in my nostalgia for a while, until we got closer to Glengoyne, where the only nostalgia I was feeling was well and truly for the West Highland Way. A happy, happy time, I can't believe the weeks are marching by since then.

Andrew and I hadn't deviated from the path to the distillery, but as I arrived and as we were leaving yesterday, walkers were coming in and out. Crossing the road back to the car park, I spied the swish of tartan out the corner of my eye. Four handsome laddies were striding towards me (okay, towards the distillery), with full kilt regalia and walking sticks - nay, branches.

What a sight - and one I couldn't resist but photographing.

 Lovely guys - and wild camping the whole way - brave!!

I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement, of being part of an exclusive club of West Highland Way walkers (or maybe rather large club), of being able to say 'yeh, I walked it back in March'.

From Glengoyne we made our way towards Drymen (more memories), and then Balmaha (more memories). Dave and I took a stroll alongside the loch, me feeling a weird mixture of tour and walking nostalgia.

Dave taught me a very valuable lesson in walking at this point - if you spend all your time looking at your feet, you'll miss quite a lot. In this example, I walked straight past the fifth braw, hairy Highlander of the day:

After Hamish posed happily for us, he resumed munching his way across the hillside, and as we walked away I turned and noted quite a few walkers walking straight past him, oblivious. Must look up more.

I managed to persuade Dave to walk up the hill to the viewpoint, because I can't stand to be in Balmaha and not stand with one foot in the Highlands and one foot in the Lowlands. We were very glad we did too, as we bumped into a Rabbies guide and his very interesting tour group. The next thing we knew, a young couple from his tour appeared and announced their engagement, he having proposed on the way up the hill - one of those heart-warming moments where everything feels right with the world.

Then a group of West Highland Way walkers appeared - and we wished them well for the rest of their walk. Someone said 'you're going to have a great time', to which the walkers responded 'we already are!' - again, I felt an affinity with them, and wanted to walk north with them!

As we left the tour group to their view, Dave spotted yet another exciting sight on our way down the hill. Two deer!

This day couldn't possibly get any better - yet hot chocolate in the Oak Tree Inn proved that it could!

From there we decided to drive back via Fintry, a route neither of us had taken before. Wow - what a drive! The views of the Campsie Fells were great, and soon we were driving alongside Carron Valley reservoir. A great drive, only hindered slightly by the natives:

Cows, deer and sheep, whisky, warmth and walkers, views and nostalgia. All wrapped into one breezy May day! To end, homemade mojitos.

I couldn't let this day go without writing about it. In amongst having worries and concerns, and being concerned about worrying, a day like this stands out.