Beinn an Dothaidh: The Leveller

Every now and then you do something (or don't) that's a bit silly. You let your guard down, and the cloak of invincibility slips. I've now been strutting around with a new lease of life in the wilds since January and it's been pretty much plain sailing. last time out on the Cobbler was a really enjoyable winter day. Other recent outings included winter days on Ben Narnain, Ben Vane, Beinn a' Chaorain, which were very affirming, confidence building outings. However, Beinn an Dothaidh (Gaelic - hill of the scorching, or singeing) was to prove an altogether more chastening experience, worthy of it's monicker, because this scorcher of a hill almost proved too hot to handle.

For starters, pride comes before a fall, and I did plenty of slipping and falling today. Lesson number one - take your walking poles, they give four points of contact, as opposed to a mere two, and make walking so much easier. Even being able to use upper body strength to haul yourself up the steeper sections is a big advantage. I had left my cheap Lidl walking poles at home today, as they're knackered. They didn't last long - think I got about half a dozen mountain days from them. Well, you get what you pay for, and at the princely sum of a tenner for the pair (they were made from carbon, and very light), I didn't really expect to tackle Everest base camp with them. These were my third pair - I need to invest in a shiny new, decent quality pair - Black Diamond is calling me to crash the cash.

And then there's thinking you're David Attenborough, messing about talking to camera like you know what you're doing, when you really should be looking where you're going. You need to be on the ball today. It's cold, a bitter easterly gusting to 55mph according to the forecast, snow conditions underfoot varying between deep slush, crusty fresh snow higher up that slides off in slabs catching you unawares. Lesson number two: stop mucking around making videos and acting like an expert. You need your wits about you and you need to concentrate on navigation!

Starting from the car park at The Bridge of Orchy Hotel, I followed the road up to the railway station, under the railway, through a gate, across the West Highland way and headed out immediately onto open hillside. There's a well trodden path that heads almost directly into the corrie between Beinn Dorain and Beinn an Dothaidh to a bealach, where a decision needs to be made as to which hill to choose. In summer, you'd do both, and maybe Beinn Mhanach as well for good measure. But higher up in the corrie today, with the sugary snow still lingering, a layer of fresh stuff on top, the clag down and visibility at zero, it was a day for being sensible (although, sensible I wasn't!) and realistic.

It's reasonably easy to find your way (generally speaking) to the summit of most mountains. There are usually footpaths or tracks. These tracks usually follow the most logical approach route - along a ridge, or up to a saddle and then following the line of least resistance (if hill walking's your game) to the summit cairn or trig point. Other than that, if you keep heading uphill you can usually locate the top without too much trouble. It is, however, more difficult to find your way back down. There are so many ways to go wrong and you could, literally, find yourself anywhere, miles from home and in the soup. Getting it wrong on the descent from today's hill could prove costly, as the eastern side is fairly remote.

So, I found the top of Beinn an Dothaidh, but it was the descent that took me by surprise. I really should've had the compass out at this point and should've been pacing out the distances. Taking a bearing also might've been a smart move. But no, visibility really was poor and I was making mistake after mistake. By the time I'd realised I was 'temporarily off route' (mountain men never admit to being lost) it was a bit late to get the compass out and take a bearing. You need to know where you are for starters. I could've taken a rough guess, but with some fairly steep ground in the general vicinity, I needed something a bit more reliable than guesswork. Lesson number three: don't wait until the going gets tough to get the compass out and use your navigational know-how.

At one point, getting my glasses out (belatedly) to read the map, a vicious cross wind blew the case clean out of my hand, thankfully spilling its contents when it hit the ground before sliding off into the void below, never to be seen again. It was with a great deal of relief, therefore, that I was very glad to retrieve my current pair from the snow, none the worse for wear after their little dice with death. Lesson number four: carry a spare pair of glasses.

Thereafter, I floundered around for about an hour, stopping, starting, re-checking the map, and then changing direction completely, before changing my mind again for the umpteenth time. I knew I was in schtuck. I knew I had been a bit of a tube (what's the point in having good navigational skills if you don't use them???). I knew I was equipped for an overnight if the worst came to the worst, but I really didn't fancy the ignominy of having to walk out the next day with my tail between my legs.

However, slope aspect came to the rescue just when I needed it. Slope aspect is a much neglected navigational tool, and it was this that eventually saved my bacon today. Simply put, I used the points of the compass - north, south, east and west, to find out which direction the slope I was on was facing and then looked at the map to find the slope that faced that way. And so, even although I had overshot the col at the head of the corrie by some distance, by heading down a west-facing slope I was able to get to safety and then find a cracking sheltered lunch spot. I was, at last,  beneath the cloud base, sitting on the kerb in Easy Street, out of danger. Phew! I hadn't dared stop for lunch until I had solved my wee problem, as I was much too anxious.

I was now able to enjoy my food and reflect on the lessons that The Hill of the Scorching had taught me today. A mixture of nervous energy, near exhaustion and hunger meant that major amounts of calories were required to get me back on an even keel, and lunch consisted of sandwiches, chocolate, chocolate and then, even more chocolate.

This photograph is me on the way up into the corrie, cool, calm and collected - before The Hill of the Scorching reached up and burned me. Not many decent photo opportunities after that. I was too busy being silly. Beinn an Dothaidh, you are indeed a leveller. In future, Stewart, don't be such a Muppet!!!

This was the second time I'd climbed this hill, and all I saw last time was the inside of a cloud. I do hear that there are great views to be had from the summit, so maybe I'll see them next time. Hopefully, I'll arrive at Bridge of Orchy all kitted out for an epic...and the sun'll be splitting the trees. Well...I can dream!

Winter Wonderland on The Cobbler

Standing proudly next to three Munros, The Cobbler (or Ben Arthur) although diminutive in stature, makes up for it's lack of height with it's rugged beauty and amazing shapely crags. And at this time of year, blanketed in snow, its true alpine character reveals itself through fleeting breaks in the clouds, while it's northerly neighbours look doon their noses and cock a snook at this cheeky wee upstart that's too short to qualify as a Munro. But let me tell you - if you ignore the Cobbler to go Munro bagging on Narnain, Ime or Vane, you've missed a trick. In the past few weeks I've frequented Beinn Narnain and Beinn Vane, and although I had great winter days on both, The Cobbler beats them both hands down for aesthetics and challenge.

My day started at 6.30am, when I left the house and everyone else, including the dug, sleeping soundly. (why is getting up early to head for the mountains so easy, when the rest of the week requires a jemmy and a stick of dynamite?). Arriving at Arrochar by 7.40am, then ready quickly, I set out at 7.50am up the switchback path to the Narnain Boulders, where I paused briefly to re-hydrate and take a breather. Again, as previously, there wasn't a breath of wind and weather conditions looked reasonably good. However, appearances can be deceptive.

Memory often lets me down, but I must be into double figures by now in ascents of this hill. Which reminds me, I once heard old Tom Weir say "I must've been up the Buachaille Etive Mor at least a hundred times." It's generally true that every time you visit, the mountain will reveal something different. You might spend a beautiful summer's day on a hill, with favourable weather and grouse exploding out of the heather almost under your feet, while mountain hares dart across the hillside. The next time, on the same hill, you'll be battling a howling gale, head down and desperate for breath, wading through a mucky bog. But to truly appreciate a mountain's attributes, you must experience it in different seasons, in different weather conditions, with different company and on different routes. That's how experience is earned and how the character of the mountain is truly revealed.

Heading on and across the Buttermilk Burn, I found the going less than straightforward as I floundered in thigh deep snow and struggled to make much headway, despite the Christmas cake (Lindsay Low, you can bake!) and energy gel I had devoured to spur me on and upwards. However, I persevered, exchanging my walking poles for an ice axe and reached the col between the summit and north top surprisingly quickly. After a short stop to regenerate my tired leg muscles, I clambered up onto the north top, (having no inclination to attempt the eye of the needle, which is the true summit, in winter conditions and unroped) by far the most dramatic top of the three . The north top sits proudly on top of a rocky crag which can only be described as sphinx-like, and the wee cairn sits only a few feet from a particularly vertiginous drop. At this point the cloud had once more shrouded the hill and I didn't hang around to wait for a good view. Instead I headed off down to the Bealach a' Mhaim, and managed at one point to fall face first in deep snow - ouch! Just as well my ice axe narrowly missed my face!

Then, safely down at the bealach, I donned a down jacket to keep the cold at bay and hung a right, heading east, back down to the Narnain boulders where I stopped for lunch. Lunch on a mountain, huddled under a boulder, with inspiring views in all directions, is not your average culinary experience. I sat thinking as I chomped on my sarnies and scoffed my crisps, swiftly followed by a choccie bar and hot tea and concluded that I'd much rather be here, where I love (usually freezing cold!), than sitting in a fancy restaurant and spending over the odds for a frankly uninspiring and expensive midday meal.

After a welcome lunch, suitably refreshed and reinvigorated, I got ready to head downhill again. I managed to tag along with an older gent, who I'd chatted to on the Cobbler, and together we compared notes as we strolled along. These are the days! A successful winter ascent of the Cobbler in double quick time (my fitness is improving), and all the time in the world to shoot the breeze with a fellow mountain enthusiast, fully 73 years old and still tramping the hills - in fact he's recently taken up ice climbing - respect! This gave us plenty to talk about, as once upon I time I had been known to frequent the odd Scottish winter route in Glencoe and the Cairngorms.

And so a fine day was had, on a great wee hill and in good company. What more could I ask for? Chinese takeaway and some footy on the telly! Yep, for me the finer things in life aren't quite the same as for most - and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Cobbler from afar

A wee bit closer

Snug and warm

The North Top