Only Young Twice

I found myself thinking about my Mum a lot the past couple of days, which might be why I felt drawn towards revisiting some places we used to go as a family when I was young, near where my grandparents used to live. I stopped and sat at the Falls of Dochart for a while – an equally stunning and fascinating stretch of river with giant slabs of rock that I used to clamber over as a kid. Its amazing to think about how long this has been here, changing imperceptibly year by year.

I got myself some new walking trousers while I was in Killin – best ones I’ve found yet – which spurred me on to plan a BIG walk for the next day. I headed towards Invervar where there is a 4 munro hike on the north side of Glen Lyon. The route there took me through some more favourite places including Kenmore, with fantastic views down Loch Tay, and passing the town of Dull, which my Gran was always tickled to tell us (many times) is twinned with the town of Boring, Oregon USA.

I also stopped in Fortingall to say hello to the Yew tree that’s been standing there for thousands of years. Estimates vary – Wikipedia says modern estimates think its only 2- or 3,000 years old, though some estimates put it at around 5,000 years old which would make it the oldest living thing in Britain. Either way its important to respect your elders when they’re this old.

This pic doesn’t do it justice, but the wooden pegs indicate the original perimeter of the tree. For a while (a long long time ago) folk used to light fires in the hollow centre, and at some point there was also a tradition of walking funeral processions though the tree, which is why they built a wall and it now looks like its in tree-jail.

Anyway, I headed on and found a quiet spot to wild camp. This was very quiet indeed as it turned out to be a mobile dead zone. No-G for me. That would have been quite nice if I had already plotted my route and downloaded the map on my phone. I also realised I hadn’t told anyone at all that I was heading in this direction and couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take them to find me if I got lost on a mountain noone knew I was on…

So next morning I was up and driving back where I’d come from down the narrow road with passing places, until I got back in to the land of 4G. In my haste I hadn’t *quite* put everything away in the van and shuddered as I turned a corner and heard the kettle and a flask clatter across the van. Lesson learned!

After all this faffing about I didn’t end up setting off until about 10am but hey ho at least was on my way to 4 munros in one day! I have to say though, I didn’t love this walk from the off. The munros sit on the Chesthill estate (lots of signs wanted me to know this) and it felt like right of access was begrudged. Walkers were to follow the green and yellow markers, stick to the trail, and walk the route in a clockwise direction only. Hmm.

The trudge up to Carn Gorm (1024m) was long and thankless. My legs informed me that one rest day after the weekend of walking with Daniel was woefully insufficient, and protested the entire way up. It was a bit of a desolate walk over grassy slopes, which felt pretty thoroughly (over?)grazed and not like the rich and luscious valleys I’d been in at the weekend. The mist engulfed me as I plodded on through the devastation of some false summits which were Not What I Needed at the time. Carn Gorm was the standard cairn with white backdrop you’re all used to seeing in my pics.

But. As I continued the route – clockwise as instructed of course – the day seemed to brighten. The breeze picked up moving the mist along and the sun came out. Maybe this will be a nice stroll across some hilltops I thought. Wrong.

I decided to walk up to the second ‘top’ which wasn’t strictly on my route but I felt sorry for it if noone walks up there just because its too close to other munros to be considered one in its own right. (Very unlikely that I’ll stick with this approach, don’t hold me to it).

On I went to the second munro, bargaining with myself that we wouldn’t eat the sandwiches until we had at least 2 in the bag. As I got up there, the winds REALLY picked up, and I remembered seeing that little ’50’ in the wind speed row of the weather forecast. It was the sort of wind where you pull your hat on tighter, more worried about losing an ear than your hat.

The second munro – Meall Garbh – had a strange cairn surrounded by rusted old iron fence posts, imprisoning the cairn stones. Looked eerily like something out of Game of Thrones.

Munro number three looked a lifetime away so I had a rest en route and cowered from the wind behind a giant boulder. I was looking over to another impressive hill – surely high enough to be a munro – which was looking back at me and seeming awfully familiar. I dug out the map and got a boost to realise it was… Shiehallion! It felt like seeing an old friend. I haven’t actually climbed Shiehallion (yet) but I’ve got a clear memory of us going to hike it when I was very young, and turning back before we even got to the hill because the wind was lifting me off my feet while I hung onto my Dad’s hand.

Carn Mairg, which was the third munro, was the most interesting hill of the day. It had a bouldery craggy top to one side like a dodgy 80s haircut. This was the highest summit of the day at 1042m and at that height I was really fighting with the wind. But the wind had really opened up the views so I couldn’t complain too much and every time I looked up there was big sky and hills as far as I could see in all directions.

Meall nan Aighean, the fourth munro – seriously I was getting tired of this now – was still inexplicably far away and the path descended about 200m – gaaah – before climbing back up to 981m. It was worth it though since this summit brought yet more enormous views and bluer skies.

After the fourth munro I was shattered and ready to be back at the van so it was a loong walk down. But after all that I headed into Aberfeldy to pick up an entirely deserved pizza supper for tea, which to you English readers means I went to the chip shop and got a deep fried half-pizza and chips 😀

A friend came up for the weekend! My first visitor! Daniel arrived on the Friday evening in Tyndrum, which was our base for the weekend. He was pretty impressed with the van set up, though admittedly the bar was low given his most recent camping trip involved 4 days in the Cairngorms under a tarp…

I shortlisted a few munro options and we both felt drawn to doing Ben More, maybe because that was the only one we could pronounce with confidence. It’s also the biggest hill in the area (Ben More actually means ‘big hill’) and naturally we wanted to get as high up as possible.

I hiked up Ben More in August 2020, but under time pressure because I was squeezing it in before a 5 hour drive to my Mum and Dad’s in Lancashire that evening. I hadn’t had time to do Stob Binnein which sits behind Ben More, so was looking forward to heading up there again to tackle the pair. I’ve got a clear memory of being pretty scared on Ben More first time round – there are some steep sections where I was only too aware that if I slipped I’d be tumbling all the way to the bottom breaking limbs as I go.

Anyway off Daniel and I went on Saturday morning, and after a mini-drama (where Daniel saved the day by finding the van keys I had “lost” in a pocket of my bag) we set off up the hill. It’s a steep hike rising 1000 metres in about 2.5 miles – the first half is essentially a rocky staircase. Daniel graciously walked at my (slow) pace. I’m very proud that I wasn’t scared at all this time round – as demonstrated by me sitting on top of the rock that I cowered behind for a self-pep-talk last time! I must be getting my mountain legs?! Of course we paused for a quick photo shoot, striking the obligatory “pensive” pose. (I think we can all see who is the better photographer).

We had some views at the top while we ate our sandwiches – Daniel was keen that we eat our Scottish Morning Rolls before noon in case they vanished into thin air at the stroke of 12.

So far we’d had some mild weather with the clouds parting to allow some sunshine through as we were near the top of Ben More. But as we started our ascent of Stob Binnein it absolutely turned and tried to discourage us from going any further. We trudged upwards inside a rain cloud which the wind was forcefully blowing Eastwards, across our path. We passed walkers who had taken the always difficult decision to stop and take the boots off to put waterproof trousers on, and chatted with some hikers on the way down who said they saw nothing at the top. The rain eased off as we approached the summit as if to begrudgingly say “ok, fine then”.

Even without a view, the top of Stob Binnein was pretty special. We approached a cairn that seemed to sit out at the edge of the world. And as we stood there, the cloud slowly thinned and a breath-taking view came into focus like a developing photograph. We watched in awe as it got better and better, each photo better than the last but none able to capture the scale of what was before us. An enormous range of hills and valley, with virtually no signs of human activity. This is why we walk up hills.

We lingered with the view, eeking out every last drop until it faded away to hide behind the clouds again.

The return leg of the walk loops back around the side of Ben More, in a lush green valley of rich grasses, streams and waterfalls. The sun came out with strength allowing us to shed the jackets, and take some basking stops to enjoy the peace of the valley. We dawdled in the beautiful weather, not really wanting to get to the end of the walk.

We headed on to the edge of the Loch Lubhair, with a couple of beers and dipped our tired feet in the water. Daniel caught the photo of the day.

Back in Tyndrum we paid a visit to the diner to fill our stomachs, and to the pub for some beers. We got chatting to a pair of fellow munro baggers who told us of their attempt at an 8 or 9 munro day – they bailed after 3 munros when they found themselves clawing their way up a steep slope of bracken amidst a swarm of ticks. Can’t say I blame them.

The next day we were up and at ’em again to squeeze in Ben Vane before Daniel’s train. Ben Vane is one of the shortest munros, only 916m in height, but packed with character. It’s craggy and crumpled posture makes it look like a cute little monster, or maybe a scrunched up piece of paper discarded by a frustated giant.

This was a more interesting hike than Ben More with multiple false summits which had me fooled every time. The rocky outcrops make for some good viewpoints and photo opps.

We had a decent bit of scrambling towards the top, then sat and ate our morning rolls – at 11.50, just in time.

Beinn a’ Bheithir is a ridge walk that takes in two munros – Sgorr Dhearg and Sgorr Dhonuill. Beinn a’ Bheithir is gaelic, so I can assure you that you’re not pronouncing it correctly – have a listen here – I’ve been giving it a good go without much success. But whether or not you can say it, it means ‘the hill of the thunderbolt’ – exciting stuff.

There are a few routes up to this ridge, and I chose the schoolhouse ridge without thinking too much about it. This ridge leads up steeply, to some pretty exposed scrambling which, when I got there, I wasn’t sure I fancied that day. There was a clear path leading round the side – seems several folk before me also didn’t fancy the scrambling and took a route around it. This was definitely a mistake.

The narrow path traversed around a steep slope, and stopped at the bottom of another steep slope covered in unwalkable scree – that I needed to get to the top of. Maybe I should have turned round at this point and taken the scramble after all (and I wonder if people doing that before me might have something to do with why the path round here looked so well trodden). But I decided to carry on (not sure why) and started clambering over the scree, heading for the heather on the side which I could at least cling on to. I thought I’d give it a try and turn back if it proved too tricky, forgetting that it would be very difficult to turn around and head back down this without a long and jaggy slide down a mountainside.

Predictably it got steeper as it went up, and before I knew it I was spiderman-ing my way up a wall of heather, full of regret. There was a couple of “moments” where I wondered why on earth I was doing this. There was also a few stops where I was certain I couldn’t go forwards or backwards, and dramatically contemplated that I might live the very short rest of my life on this slope. On the back of this thought I forced myself to keep spiderman-ing in short bursts in between mini-freakouts. (Calling it “spiderman-ing” probably infers a level of dexterity and elegance that definitely wasn’t on show here, maybe try and picture a spiderman that’s been in an accident). I’m afraid I didn’t get a picture of this for you – my hands were occupied clawing into the heather.

You’ve probably deduced from the fact that I’m writing about this that I did in fact survive. I did eventually make it to the top, joining the couple that had gone up this just ahead of me (significantly faster) to discuss what a bad idea that had been and admire the shoulder of hill we should have come up. Their dog didn’t seem to agree and bounded round the crest carrying his newly found rock and asking for some of my flapjack.

The walk onwards from here was much more sensible. I headed up the ridge to Sgorr Dhearg, and claimed another picture of me-at-a-cairn-in-the-clouds to add to the collection.

The wind was howling so I didn’t stop long before heading down the ridge which led across to Sgorr Dhonuill.

The views from the ridge were lovely, and kept changing as with fierce wind was whipping the clouds around.

Sgorr Dhonuill was a much more interesting hike up a rocky zig-zagging path, and some scrambling over the boulders closer to the summit. Amazingly, at the top of this one the wind had vanished and everything was still – I’d climbed above the altitude the wind was operating at today. The clouds below thinned briefly to show me some of the view out to the islands of Mull and Lismore. After about 10 minutes they closed up again – show was over – so I headed back down, feeling sorry for the folk who were coming up to the thick white and wishing them luck that it might open up again for them.

The return leg branched off down from the middle of the baelach (gaelic for narrow mountain pass) between the two peaks, and took me down through some lush forest where I got some great lungfuls of piney air before looping back to Ballachuilish.

I decided another day of relaxing was called for, so I headed up to Caolasnacon campsite. This place is popular, but doesn’t take bookings, and a Wednesday seemed a good bet to get a decent spot. I was able to get a choice pitch looking down the loch. You can see why its so popular:

Down at the loch the water was so still and clear, it would have been rude not to at least have a paddle. Water in the lochs is about the warmest it’ll be all year having heated up through the summer – but you wouldn’t know it!! I put on a bikini and pulled a big hoody on top – let’s not be silly here – and waded in over the stones in my swimshoes. Tiny yelp as it got over the ankles, gasp as it swallowed my calves, and maybe a whimper when we got over the knees. After standing there a while (still snuggled in my hoody) it started to feel… ok(?) as the numb set in. I’ve read that you should acclimatise to the water, especially if you’re not used to wild swimming, because the cold can send you into shock which is what gets you into trouble. (I also know not to wild swim somewhere new to you on you own – there were other campers spying this with bemusement over their books). I walked out, debated with myself whether to ditch the hoody and swim, decided against it, then decided against that since its only going to get colder from here, and forced myself to give it a go. In any event, “swimming” is definitely an oversell of what was happening here. I think I managed two dunks, both accompanied by a squawk and lasting no more than 2 seconds. But I emerged from the water triumphant and smug that I got my shoulders in, however briefly, and much to the amusement of the other campers.

After a hot shower, it was nice to take the time to do a bit of a tidy up and re-organise now that I’m getting a feel for which things I use most often, and which things can be squirrelled away to the back of cupboards. Since it was probably the tidiest it will be for a while (/ever?) I took some snaps to give you a little tour of the van.

Here is my little two-burner gas stove, and sink with running (cold) water.

There’s a very cleverly designed pop-up table, which slides backwards and forwards, and stows flat along the side of bench seat. The driver and passenger seat (known as ‘captains chairs’ to us campervan dorks) both spin around to face into the van. I usually tend to only spin the passenger seat round since its just me and I’m often only staying a night or two, and spinning the drivers one is a bit more faff to get it round past the steering wheel. I’ve also got a little box stool behind the drivers seat, which cunningly covers my porta-potti chemical loo. Some vanners like to wild it and go outside, but its not always easy to find an ok spot (i.e. discreet and far enough away from water sources) and if a lot of wildcampers or vanners are visiting certain places it will eventually damage the local environment. So personally I prefer to have a loo which can be emptied it at proper points in campsites, which makes me more confident I can leave no trace other than footprints (/wheelprints).

The two cupboards under the stove and sink house most of my food, and my pots, plates and other cooking things.

The van has what VW describe as a wardrobe, but I can’t see myself hanging things up on coat hangers so its liable to become a bit of a dumping ground with stuff thrown in. I got hold of shelves designed to fit in here, which were pretty simple to install. Much more useful as a storage cupboard for toiletries, books, useful things etc etc.

Clothes-wise I installed window bags which holds a lot of smaller items of clothing like underwear/socks, vests and leggings. This does make it a bit darker in the van but it fits So Many Pairs Of Hiking Socks, so I think totally worth it. Most of my trousers and jumpers fit in the airplane style overhead locker.

Anddd.. after walking the next day up Beinn a’ Bheithir… the van was messy and muddy again! Funny to think that some people asked me what I’d do in my evenings up here – mostly I’m moving things around continuously tidying up one area while simultaneously messing up another…

The Scottish weather is still moody. But having been up three munros in cloudy conditions already this week, I thought I’d attempt Ben Sgulaird.

Beinn Sgulaird stands on its own looking out over the west coast to the islands of Mull and Lismore. “Save this one for a fine day” my book says on account of the spectacular views from the top. Hmm.

I found a lovely place to camp lochside the night before, very peaceful. Given I was parked broadside to a long expanse of loch, I decided against putting the pop top up since the winds were picking up.

Sleeping in the downstairs bed involves a bit more faff in putting the bench set into bed position. This requires some organisation because once the bed is out you can no longer get into some storage spaces (importantly this includes the snack cupboard) and it does involve moving all the stuff I’ve got sitting on the bench seat or in the top shelf of the boot (which becomes the back third of the bed) to *somewhere else*.

The weather wasn’t as good as I was hoping for, certainly not the “fine day” my book recommended choosing for this. But given I was here I thought I’d give it a go. And a couple of other cars showed up in the layby parking for this walk, so yet again I’m not the only overly optimistic soul in town.

The walk starts up a landrover track which OH MY LEGS is steep – no easing in gently to this one – and then picks up a path which goes over a hill, comes down again (whyyy) and then picks up again heading up to the ridge walk along to the summit. The wind was picking up and biting at my ears – woolly hat time – but wasn’t shifting the clouds, which seemed to be rolling down the hill to meet me (or maybe eat me).

I have to admit I was finding this tougher going that I expected – probably because I’d spent my “rest day” after Ben Cruachan and Stob Diamh cycling a much hillier-than-expected route from Benderloch to Oban and back. (Silly of me to assume a coastal area to be flattish). Plus I’ve been on the go for a couple of weeks now between emptying the contents of my flat into my Dad’s garage (thanks Dad!), a weekend in Wales involving 2 hikes and 4 yoga classes, another trip to London to check my flat was empty enough (it was), and then straight into packing the van, driving up and camping/hiking/cycling every day. My family tends to call this kind of thing “Doing An Ashley” when I get stuck on “go” mode and throw all I’ve got into the new exciting thing I’m up to until I *totally* crash. No wonder my legs weren’t feeling too fresh.

Looking behind me I was getting some views out to the islands, and can imagine how stunning this must be from the top on a clear day, though it was becoming clear I wouldn’t be seeing anything but cloud at the top.

By the time I was halfway up, the weather forecast for the top had changed from “some clouds” to just straight up “clouds”. I carried on adding layers of clothes as I walked further into the wet white mess. It was getting really opaque.

I was thinking about turning around and admitting this wasn’t the day for this at just shy of 700m elevation (the summit is 937m). At this point I ran into the family who had set off 5 minutes before me but blasted their way up – can only assume they had rocket fuel for breakfast. I commented on how fast they’d been, but they told me they hadn’t been to the summit – they’d decided to turn around. In fact, they told me this was their second aborted attempt at this hill – the first time they were just 15 minutes from the summit when they accepted defeat (after which they said no-one spoke for about 3 hours while they all silently fumed hahaha). I walked up over the next crest to look ahead (confirming thickening cloud). And my tired legs were making their position on the matter very clear. So at 720m I decided that’s enough for today thank you very much and headed down.

I got back to the van exhausted, but pleased I turned back when I did. I decided I needed some hearty food so I pootled up the road to the Creagan Inn for some venison meatballs and loaded fries, overlooking Loch Creran.

After lunch I headed further North up the coast, stopping at the side of Loch Linnhe where I wandered around the rock pools and sat for a while watching the water. The longer you look the more you see – little fish, some sitting still camouflaged to the rock, and little crabs scuttling about.

I found an idyllic place to camp for the night on a beach looking down the loch out to sea. The sun peeped through confirming this was the place to be.

I spent the evening watching this view develop and wandering up and down the beach.

After a really peaceful nights sleep, I sat for a while with my morning tea and was greeted by the locals.

So not only did I survive the first night wild camping… it was the best sleep I’ve had in ages. And a good thing too – because I was taking on my first 2-in-1 munro hike the next day.

I was hoping for some Cruach-ing weather (sorry), but it was another misty day. Thankfully the ominous walls of fog lifted on the latter half of the walk, opening up some enormous views. But check out the fog over the Cruachan dam which brought flashbacks to dementors of the Potter-verse, or (for the oldies out there) the horror film “The Fog” – that was enough to keep the pace up!

The walk takes you up and around the Cruachan reservoir, before you head up Ben Cruachan itself which is a steep climb up to the summit at 1126m. You then head along the ridge to Stob Diamh (998m) and over another smaller peak before descending back to the reservoir. You can see my route on Strava here and a no-expense-spared illustration below:

I ran into to some fellow hikers Fiona and Katie, and Katie’s dog Misty – a pomsky! – and joined them from Ben Cruachan onwards. Fiona and Katie were great company and Misty was in her element trotting ahead picking out the path, and posing in choice places for photos, such as:

We had mist at the top of Ben Cruachan, but some views from Stob Diamh – here’s a selection of the best snaps.

That’s all for now, I’m off to choose where to walk tomorrow after my day off.

So here I am doing it?! I bought the campervan, took a year off work, headed to Scotland.

I thought I’d start this blog mostly to keep a record for Future Me of this year, and for friends/family/anyone else interested to see what I get up to. For anyone who doesn’t know – I’m spending a year in Scotland, living in my VW Campervan and hoping to tackle plenty of Munros (Scottish mountains over 3000ft high). I’ll probably post updates about my mountain climbing, life in the van and hiccups I’m sure I’ll have along the way.

First, I’d like to introduce you to my van. I call her Cali, or Godzilla (named after the reg and her carniverous-looking wheels).

I was lucky to get myself a VW T6.1 California Ocean – second hand but only about a year old and 2000 miles on the clock.

She’s got a bed in the pop-up roof (sort of small-double bed sized), and a downstairs bed which I can use when I want to camp more discreetly, or when its blowing a hoolie. She’s got a two-burner gas hob, a 30L water tank (and 30L waste-water tank), a heater to keep me warm, a fridge to keep my beer cold, and lots of smart storage.

I haven’t needed to make any serious modifications. I’ve added an insulating liner to the bellows of the pop-up roof, which involved a lot of velcro. I also added some hooks and a tiny towel rail which involved drilling into the van – real heart-in mouth moment (and a test of father-daughter trust). I *think* we managed to get the towel rail straight…

My first munro (of 2021)

Scotland gave me a foggy welcome, so I started off by choosing a hill with a well-defined path that would hopefully prevent me getting lost in the mist on day 1. Ben Vorlich (the one by Loch Lomond – there’s another at Loch Earn) is only 943 metres high – but steep going. I had my doubts about the thickness of the fog which seemed to both move and hang about at the same time. It brought back memories of me and my sister being hastily ushered off Dumyat by my Mum and Dad when we were kids, because fog had started rolling up the hill from the valley, and the many times my Dad has told me how easy it is to get lost in fog even on familiar routes. Fortunately I met a few other people on the hill who were at least as mad as me to go up in the coming-and-going visibility, so I pressed on (sorry, Dad).

The mist opened up in a few spots for some views back to Loch Lomond, and the top greeted me with a blank canvas backdrop. I’ll remember to place my order for the view in advance next time.

My first night wild camping:

I’m writing this as I’m settling down for my first night of wild camping – near the bottom of tomorrow’s hill. It’s a little unsettling just parking up and pulling the blinds down, and I keep needing to remind myself that its ok for me to be here. It feels so strange, but very exciting. I think also as a women I’ve learned / been taught to be fearful of being out alone at night. Though out here I might be less scared of ill-meaning people, and more or things that go bump in the night…  Will I survive to write a second blog post? Let’s find out!