At that inauspicious beginning I never as much as possessed a camera and Tinternet was for geeks in cagoules sitting in darkened rooms learning Gaelic pronunciations of mountain names (it's finest exponent- one Sorley McLean).
Consequently my earliest episodes in the Scottish hills exist entirely in the foggy mists of sepia-tinted mountain memories. I do have some smudgy scribbled logs I was obliged to keep when going through the Mountain Leader Award scheme, but as with all things that have been foisted upon me, they are basic at best and at worst downright clinical and devoid of feeling.
What I henceforth attempt, from this day forward, is to catalogue my wild adventures (supplemented by half-decent photographs) using digital media, wit and a healthy dose of embellishment. I intend this foray into the realm of journalism/blogging (call it what you will) to be thoroughly therapeutic, life-enhancing and to provide me with some sense of well-being. I want to adequately express in prose how my outdoor experiences make me feel in the exhilarating moment of waking up on a bothy floor on a cold winters morning, of summiting the Ben from Carn Mor Dearg arrete, of seeing the aurora borealis from the Cairngorm plateau at midnight, of......well, you get the drift. Read on to follow my mountain odyssey.
Oh, and I might just throw in some cycle stuff too, for good measure. That is, if I can manage to fit into my Lycra after the excesses of Christmas - just as well it's stretchy. Expect the unexpected!
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