Mountain Odyssey: 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.