Red Hot on The Fell

What a change from last time out! Instead of the inside of a cloud, we had a perfect 360 of great views. Instead of a deluge, we got melted. Instead of a vicious wind, we had...well, not much wind at all to speak of, which has it's problems - namely loads of clegs (horse flies) and midges (wee mini mossies). Hang around in one spot for too long and you're dinner - raw! Still, the weather today was fab and it wasn't long before we were well and truly cooked. However, as long as one was armed with plenty of sun cream, liberally applied, and re-applied, and re-applied thrice more, the worst ravages of the sun were kept at bay. Even still though, I'm rather red.

Slap it on!

Lookin' cool

Today, Rach and I were part of a group doing a charity walk on Goat Fell, Isle of Arran, for a colleague's father. Diagnosed with Parkinson's and then with cancer, life hasn't been easy recently and now he's in a hospice, which we're raising money for. My colleague Eddy billed the walk as "The highest busk in the world", a performance of "The Man Wi Nae Legs" at the summit. Eddy took his guitar all the way up, and a party of around 100 supporters, including the Royal Voluntary Service and Marks and Spencer's, who provided backing vocals at the top.

Eddy giving it welly!

After listening to Eddy, we decided to lose the crowds and headed off down Stacach to North Goat Fell. It was great to finally experience a wee bit of solitude on this stunning granite playground, after a fair bit of time spent at the top of Goat Fell. Arran has changed a lot since the last time I visited - the path workers have been hard at work repairing eroded granite tracks and building steps for the hordes of day-trippers who frequent theses shores. It seems that climbing Goat fell is the thing to do here, either that or cycle round the island and there were plenty up for the 59 mile jaunt today judging by the amount of MAMILs (Middle Aged Men In Lycra) we saw on the ferry. Therefore, every which way leading to Goat Fell is a well-constructed highway, with stairs like you'd see in your house - kinda takes away the wilderness feel. Suppose it's necessary though. Anyway, if you dare to leave the vicinity of Arran's highest peak, you'll discover more than a few real gems.

That's Cir Mhor (pronounced keer vor) and The Castles ridge, complete with the Witch's Step in the background. What a view! I think we'll defo be back over sometime soon to devote some more time to these beauties. When you see the ridge from Ben Nuis to Ben Tarsuinn, A'Chir, Cir Mhor and the Castles, you realise that Goat Fell is probably the least interesting hill in the main northern granite massif.

As we took the path down into Corrie Lan (in it's lower reaches the straightest hill path I think I've ever clapped eyes on) we managed to bump into Joy and Garry, with their son and daughter, on their way up. Small world. 

Then the jet carrying the Commonwealth Baton arrived, just as Eddy had promised, and circled the summit no less than five times before flying down the length of Corrie Lan. We waved and the pilot tipped his wings in acknowledgement. Nice gesture, and a nice finishing touch to the day's events.

All that was left to do now was to catch the 4.40 ferry back home. A good day and a fitting reward for the previous trip's crazy weather.

The Climber

The Climber awoke.

He could feel the intense heat of the sun beating down on his back like a furnace,  piercing the thin fleece he was wearing and causing him to sweat profusely. His senses seemed dulled like he'd somehow been drugged without his knowledge. His eyes, head, legs and chest pulsed to the throbbing beat of his heart. He was aware of the fact that he was somewhere well outside his comfort zone, but the facts, like jigsaw pieces, had still to click into place. He didn't fully realise it yet, but he had endured an awful calamity and his sense of shock was palpable.

Contrastingly, he could feel a soothing breeze coming from somewhere beneath his feet, which seemed to be dangling over an expanse of space, his left leg displaying the traumatic evidence of a ripped gaiter, half of which had been torn asunder, the other half fluttering forlornly in the breeze. Until then he'd been in a dreamlike state, but now at this precise moment, even while semi-conscious, he suddenly became aware that something was badly wrong. He couldn't accurately comprehend his plight, only that the intense pain he felt and the precarious position he now occupied lay outwith the realm of safe and comfortable. He'd been taken from great to grief. From exhilaration nearly to extermination. His desolation was almost absolute and, worst of all, he was alone and far from help or rescue.

He was lying prostrate, on his face, like a toppled tombstone in a rocky granite cemetery, and runny wet mud oozed over his name and his face, blocking one of his nostrils and obscuring his vision. Rest in peace Mr. Climber! He had no grasp on the real world. He existed in a limbo, a fantasy land where his reality lagged far behind his consciousness and he viewed his surroundings in slow motion, like a drunk trying to make sense of his house keys.

His first attempt at movement was to wriggle the fingers on his left hand, but without much in the way of success and resulting only in a biting pain. Therefore, he gave up temporarily and then tried again a few minutes later. This time, the consequent pain persuaded him to stop. It felt like rods of white hot metal were being skewered straight down under his finger nails, through the middle of his knuckles and into the palm of his hand. Movement, it seemed, was going to be a bit of a challenge.

Then, when he felt the breeze rattling through his fingers and through the shredded rags of what had been a glove and experienced the raw, jagged pain of exposed flesh, he realised his hand was useless. He managed a sideways look from amongst the mud and what he saw terrified him - a bloody, shattered, mashed up fist, his ragged fingers splayed haphazardly like wilted daffodils and his lower arm looking like it had been pulverised in a road traffic accident. His realised, at this point, that not only were his fingers and hand broken, but his whole left arm was useless.

He then abandoned all effort at movement, preferring instead hushed, restful motionlessness to the torture of movement. The next few minutes seemed to pass like the oozing, molten hands on Salvador Dali's melting clock faces, except that The Climber's form was draped over a rocky ledge, on a lonely mountainside, far away from the safe haven of a sheltered beach. Then again, all too slowly this time, his pain-racked body fell into a mild sleep. Relief. Escape. Refuge. Oh how sweet the release of unconsciousness and the anaesthetising effects of inertia.

However, his slumber was short-lived and he woke again, abruptly this time to the full, alarming realisation of both where he was and how he had gotten there. He had been on a solo climb in the Cairngorms,  venturing out alone today, with the intention of walking from Scottie's Bothy, where he'd spent the previous night in the company of a party of RAF chaps from Lossiemouth, ensconced in the raucous reverie of folk music and whisky, to climb Derry Cairngorm. Last night's banter had been superb, centring around a hilarious card game where the lowest ranked player was given a series of menial tasks and baited mercilessly, whilst the top dog was treated like a lord - pretty much a realistic reflection of life in the forces, then.

It was just what the doctor had ordered, an escape from the stresses and strains of his job in the city to the idyllic, awe inspiring wildness of the Cairngorms. The great company and raucous banter had set the seal on his first day in the wilderness and set the scene for the adventure that lay ahead, or so he thought...

Today, on a beautiful clear morning he'd shaken off the excesses of the night before, and his early start had taken him from Derry Lodge northwards up Glen Derry and then via Carn Crom, Little Cairngorm and Derry Cairngorm and eventually down to the foot of the cliffs at remote Coire Sputan Dearg. He hadn't planned a solo route on these cliffs, as his original intention was to head from Derry Cairngorm over to Coire Etchachan and spend the night in The Hutchison Memorial Hut. He'd agreed to rendezvous with a fellow climber who lived in this neck of the woods, before heading for Shelter Stone Crag in the Loch Avon basin, to climb a particularly difficult route called Run of the Arrow. What an epic three days he had in store.

However, like all plans on a day of great weather, they're open to change, and the change he had in mind today was to pick his way up these vertiginous cliffs to gain easier, less rocky slopes and from there attain the summit of Ben Macdui, the second highest mountain in the UK after Ben Nevis.

Like all solo efforts it was risky. He'd be climbing unroped and without a partner or any form of protection, where the result of a fall would be serious, or even catastrophic. But, hey - what the heck! Get while the getting's good, he who dares, carpe diem and all that nonsense. He could put in some temporary protection for security as he paused for rest on the route, he told himself.

And so the plan took shape, formed and moulded from sheer optimism, great weather and the urge for adventure that lies somewhere deep within all of us. And like everything else on a clear sunny day, life seemed easy and possibilities were apparently limitless. He could see his way forward bright and clear, the multi-faceted challenge of climbing, walking and dossing overnight in another great Cairngorms bothy was irresistible.

His impulsively chosen climb had started at the foot of a slabby route named Crystal Ridge, and in the early stages it was an absolute joy, a classic even by the elevated standards of the Cairngorms. With a south-eastern aspect, Coire Sputan Dearg caught the early morning sun, and now, at 8.00am the sun warmed his back as he climbed, lost in his thoughts whilst simultaneously focused on the rock immediately in front of him. Rock 'n' roll! "You can tell everybody - I'm the man, I'm the man, I'm the man." With his i-pod booming in his ears, he settled into an easy rhythm, the beat of each song propelling him towards his goal. He had already picked out the soundtrack of his dreams, and he visualised himself watching the video clip of this epic adventure on You Tube. Maybe ACDC's "You Shook Me All Night Long", or ZZ Top's "Tube Snake Boogie" would be the soundtrack.

Climbing was his passion, as was the pursuit of filthy lucre in the dog eat dog, cut-throat world of the London Stock Exchange. Climbing, hill walking, mountaineering, paddling, cycling and even... golf, in fact any excuse to get outside gave him a sense of freedom and exhilaration that was the equal of any buzz he gained from accumulating wealth and closing big financial deals. Money was only one of his passions, oh yes! The capacity and desire to travel and pursue his outdoor hobbies was the other. For him, the pursuit of a range of outdoor sports was easy. He was young, relatively fit, healthy, fabulously wealthy, and therefore he had the means to splash out on foreign trips and expensive gear. So why not? You're only young once, or so they say. Every opportunity outside his busy schedule in The City was seized upon as he made the most of his chances, like many rats in the big time he was cash-rich and time-poor.

However, the first inkling that things were starting to go slightly awry dawned on him when he reached the crux move of the route......

Tune in for the next instalment, coming soon on Stewart's Mountain Odyssey.

Wet and Wild on Beinn Ghlas

Beinn Ghlas (Grey-Green Mountain) 17/5/14

DofE on the move

Today on Beinn Ghlas, Rachel accompanied a Duke of Edinburgh's Award contingent on what was her 4th Munro, with the aim of planting a D of E flag at the summit. For many of the group of 15 who enthusiastically (given the atrocious weather) made their way up this rain-lashed hillside, this was their first Munro - what an introduction!

Taking a well-earned break

The weather was truly awful. Heavy rain, strong winds and poor visibility combined to make this a particularly challenging outing, giving everyone present a real test of their stamina and endurance (and, of course, a test of their waterproofs!). Thank goodness everyone was in good spirits throughout the day, although this too was subjected to a stern examination, particularly near the top, when the wind got up and we experienced the dreaded horizontal precipitation.

Ross had the GPS out

I'd like to be able to describe the amazing views of lovely Loch Tay and beautiful Ben Lawers, the panorama of peaks, glens and valleys stretching away into the distance in every direction. But I can't describe the views - because there were none! Almost from the word go, we fought our way through this eery landscape, inside a cloud and under the protection of our hoods, like drookit rats scrabbling ever upwards through the torrent.

On a positive note, however, the clear days are like a reward for all the dreich days, and they are appreciated so much more as a result. And for all you first timers - the only way is up from here!

Yes - the weather was this bad!



Success! Munro bagged! Flag planted! Angela and Gav at the top

Well, my waterproof jacket failed it's test spectacularly. On returning to the minibus I reached into a pocket for my glasses, and when I opened the glasses case my specs were floating - goggles more like! Sponsored by Speedo! And why is it that waterproof trousers, if they're going to leak, always seem to do so at the crotch - water polo! Note to self: buy some Grangers wash-in waterproofing. Mind you, a new Goretex jacket wouldn't go amiss either. Roll on the referendum.

A Day of Firsts on Ben Narnain and The Cobbler

This was Rachel's first attempt at climbing two hills in one day, as our goal for today was to climb Ben Narnain, followed by The Cobbler. In fact today was a day of many firsts for Rach, so read on and you'll find out.

The weather forecast had seemed optimistic when I looked at the long-range prediction on Tuesday (cool and clear), but as I've found from bitter experience, long range forecasts are not to be trusted and they are prone to change on a daily basis. The actual weather today was overcast, calm and cool, with the wind a wee bit wilder nearer the summit of Narnain.

Rach with walking poles for the first time

Today, Dad was road testing his new Black Diamond walking poles and Rach used poles for the first time, namely Dad's old ones. This proved to be a positive experience for both father and daughter, as Dad really appreciated having good foam grips that don't get soaked in sweat and Daughter agreed that poles really do ease the shock load on your knees, as well as providing a good upper-body workout and giving good balance on uneven terrain (my words, not hers...she'll agree in the fulness of time). The one negative is that there are steeper sections on many hills, including a couple on Ben Narnain that require a more hands-on approach, and for this, poles need to be temporarily dispensed with.

Look nae poles!

Another first: Rach spotted her first ptarmigan today (before dad could)- on Ben Narnain, not on the so called Ptarmigan Ridge of Ben Lomond last time out. This wee black and white bird blends beautifully with its surroundings and it was a while before I managed to pick it out, so effective was its summer camouflage. In winter, it becomes totally white except for its tail and eye patch, which remain black. This sighting was a good sign that we were gaining significant height, as these partridge-sized birds rarely frequent the lower slopes, often they can only be seen above 2,000 feet, so at this point we knew we were fairly close to the top.

Can't take the credit for this excellent pic. thanks google images

And so, we gained the summit, after an adventurous wee section known as the Spearhead, where rock slope failure had caused a significant collapse near the summit, evidenced by some massive rocks which had obviously toppled downwards, littering the hillside with some impressive debris.

Rach approaching the Spearhead

Another first today for Rach was taking a compass bearing for real on the cloud covered summit of Ben Narnain, as we aimed for the Bealach a'Mhaim before tackling the Cobbler. We'd run through the process in the comfort of our living room back home, but there's nothing quite like testing it for real, especially when the clag's doon (poor visibility/low cloud, for my American friends). But first things first and we managed to get a fellow mountaineer to take a summit pic, as opposed to the usual selfie.

Munro number 3, Rach. Only 279 to go!

After negotiating the summit plateau and the western flank of the mountain, whilst walking on a bearing, we headed for the Cobbler. As this was to be our first attempt at two mountains in one day, I decided to give Rach a get-out clause, suggesting that maybe the Cobbler could wait until a clearer day. However, the bold Rach would have none of it and was determined to bag another summit. It wasn't until we were half way up the Cobbler, I realised that she thought this hill was also a Munro. So that's why she had jet heels! Sorry to disappoint you, Rach.

The Cobbler has three tops, of which the rocky promontory in the middle is the true summit. However, an airy scramble is required to "go through the eye of the needle" before attaining the exposed plinth of the summit. Now, I've taken a fair few folk up the Cobbler in the past, including groups of young people as part of my job. And although I've personally been to the top a few times, guiding someone there safely would require the use of a rope - for my peace of mind, more than the intrepid climbers'. All the way up the back end of the hill, Rach begged me to let her go for it - until she actually saw it first hand, and beat a hasty retreat, phew!!!

The summit

Dad- looking uncharacteristically cheery

Instead we decided to tackle the north top, which has a cracking overhang, barely visible through the cloud from below. So, on we bashed, to the beat of our rumbling bellies, till we hit our concluding top of the day, and it was on this airy spot we tucked into our packed lunches, thankful that the rain was     staying away for a change. Once the sandwiches were scoffed, we headed back down to the bealach and made our way down the familiar track, via the Narnain Boulders, back to Succoth and the comforts of the car. Oh, and Rach managed a final first today, at the Narnain Boulders. It was a somewhat private moment, interupted briefly by two passing walkers. But I'll leave that up to her to tell you, next time you speak to her.

The overhang

Burnt Barnet on Beacon Hill

What a scorcher on Scotland's most southerly Munro! Great weather, good company (apart from hordes of the great unwashed!) and another step on the way to good hill fitness.

Today's weather forecast was for temperatures of 15 degrees, wall to wall sunshine and no wind to speak of, so my daughter Rachel and I made an early start, loaded up on the sun cream, ditched the waterproofs and headed for Rowardennan to tackle Ben Lomond (translated - Beacon Hill). Having climbed nearby Ben Ime (Butter Hill) and been nearly blown inside out only two weeks previously, we looked forward to improved weather conditions and felt reasonably fit and in good condition ourselves.

Heading up The Ptarmigan in fine sunny weather

However, we were taken somewhat by surprise at the weather on the day. It felt a lot warmer than forecast - so hot, in fact,  that even after liberal doses of sun cream I managed to burn my napper! Being in possession of slightly more hair than I, however, Rach had a tad more sun protection and escaped the rays almost unscathed. Note to self: apply sun cream before leaving house next time! Maybe even take a sun hat! Maybe even grow my hair long (impossible!)!

On my way from misery to happiness today - uhuh!

The other thing that caught us unawares was the sheer volume of traffic on this mountain, and with it being Good Friday it seemed that we weren't the only ones with designs on climbing the Beacon Hill. On our ascent of Ptarmigan Ridge we only met seven others going up (a fair few more descending via  Ptarmigan - crazy!!!), but perhaps as a result of it's proximity to the Central Belt, we jostled for a lunch spot at the summit and passed at least a hundred hot and bothered walkers on our way down the tourist route.

Ptarmigan ridge provides the best route of ascent up Ben Lomond. It runs, south to north, roughly parallel with the large whale-backed hump of Sron Aonaich ("Tourist Route"), before turning on a fine curving ridge to attain the summit via the north-western shoulder. Today, we met many a soul descending by this route, and probably wishing they'd done the circuit in reverse. Still, I suppose the first time I climbed this hill I blindly followed the Tourist Route, trudging expectantly up the four-lane highway to the top.

Go east!

The summit provided a great spot to tuck into our rolls and a stunning northward panorama over which to pick out a veritable multitude of Munros. Most of the hills visible had almost completely shed their wintry garb, apart from Ben Nevis, which still seemed to have a fair covering of the white stuff. By the time we'd filled our stomachs, quite a crowd had gathered at this serene spot to do likewise - once the obligatory photos had been taken at the trig point, of course!

Selfie at the top

The best thing that can be said about the descent route is that it's gentle on the knees. However, we couldn't help but wish we had our mountain bikes to hand, which would've eaten up the seven kilometres in no time and provided a refreshing breeze to boot. No such luck, however, and we plodded slowly downwards, dodging the crowds heading uphill and arrived back at the car five and half hours after we'd started, thankful for fresh clothes, Lucozade Sport and Toby Mac booming out the stereo on the journey home.

Burnt barnet!

Arty Selfie

Ben Ime

"I've never looked this bad and felt this good" said Rach, as we sat at the windswept summit of Ben Ime having battled our way through some pretty challenging weather, over hill and mucky bog, into the teeth of a 50mph westerly that was blowing in curtains of hail and snow, and after picking our way across a jagged boulder field. For her to be as effusive in her praise, in the face of all this, I was really chuffed. It felt like: mission accomplished. Carlsberg don't do mountain days with your daughter - but if they did.... As a parent, it doesn't get much better than this.

During the Easter school holidays, we decided to beat the boredom and head for the hills. I had taken a week off work and didn't want to be hanging around indoors. Rach was keen to get outside to try out her new boots and waterproofs, having recently signed up for the Duke of Edinburgh's Award. I was looking for a mountain that would have just enough variety and length to stimulate Rachel's interest in the great outdoors, but not too much as to put her off. 

Rach was looking for adventure and I was more than happy to assist her in her quest. I knew her capabilities, having witnessed at first hand how she coped with our wee jaunt over Rannoch Moor to Loch Chiarain bothy last October. Rach thought she knew her capabilities...but she hadn't bargained for the sort of weather we were to encounter today.

It all started from the car park at Succoth (familiar territory, having been here on The Cobbler just a few weeks previously, and on Ben Narnain before that), where once again I set out (with Rachel this time) on what, at first glance appeared to be a calm, sunny morning, to climb Ben Ime. I was anticipating exposing my newly bald napper to the big yellow orb, and wishing I'd had the foresight to bring some sun cream. Appearances can be deceptive, however, as once we gained the Narnain Boulders, the wind really picked up and we needed to wrap up well against the stinging, wind-borne hail showers. 

The Narnain boulders have always been a stopping-off point for me, as I guess they've been for many an out-of-puff wanderer over the years. Some of the early climbing pioneers bivvied out under these huge glacial erratics, before putting up many first ascents of climbing routes on The Cobbler, Tom Weir included. They're like giant waypoints on the track to Ben Narnain, The Cobbler and Ben Ime, providing welcome respite from the weather and a safe, sheltered spot to stop for lunch or a snack. Often, I've taken advantage of their shelter from the elements before setting off to ascend The Cobbler and it's lofty neighbours.

Ben Ime (1,011m, 3,316ft), meaning Butter Hill, is known as such because butter was once made at the high shieling pastures in the area. Other landmarks alluding to this can be found nearby at the Buttermilk Burn and Butter Bridge. The squelchy lower slopes and the boggy Bealach a' Mhaim (a saddle that separates Ben Narnain and Ben Ime) did their best to be as slippery as the aforementioned dairy product, the inevitable consequences of the recent thaw. Rach was glad of her gaiters and soon abandoned all hope of keeping her shiny new boots clean.

Anyway, before long we left the relative shelter of the leeward side of the saddle between The Cobbler and Narnain and ventured out onto the Bealach a' Mhaim, buffeted by the wind and hammered by the hail, remnants of a season that was stubbornly clinging to the last vestiges of winter. We then made our way, tentatively, onto Ben Ime proper. 

Higher up its grassy flank, some impressive crags on its northern side drop steeply into Coire Grogain. Needless to say, these rocky ramparts needed to be given a wide berth, particularly in today's strong wind, and we teetered around a couple of the larger snowfields near the corrie's edge, before striking out for the summit. Here, a circle of rocks sit on a raised plinth. In it's former days this would've provided a shelter of sorts. Nowadays, its a rather neglected-looking excuse for a refuge, and we hunkered down under it's flank to eat a swift lunch, glad of what little respite there was from the unrelenting, icy wind.

It wasn't long, however, before we were on the move again, our fingers too cold to hold our sarnies, and we resolved to have second lunch when safely ensconced again at the Narnain Boulders. Rach then tried her hand at sledging on an orange survival bag on the way down, but the best she could manage was a load of icy snow doon her breeks and some wounded pride. Needless to say, Yours Truly was a tad on the heavy side for the slushy snow and couldn't get our improvised sled to budge. Ah well, need to cut down on the biccies Stewarty boy!

Second lunch at the boulders was a treat - cheese and chicken roll, Maltesers and a Topic, chased down with some tepid tea. Rach devoured what was left of her roll and followed it up with some Minstrels. The most favouritist lunch spot in all the Arrochar Alps - Frodo Baggins eat yer heart out! The rest of the walk-out back to Succoth proved uneventful and the descent of this well-made path is documented in earlier blog posts.

All in all, a pretty tiring day for Rach (and for the auld guy too!), but a great introduction to hillwalking for her. I still remember visiting Tiso in Buchanan Street, as Rach did recently, to purchase my first set of waterproofs and boots, many moons ago. I also remember the first time I used them - on my first Munro, Ben Vorlich (Lochearnhead) with Jeebsy Higgins and chums - it was a real thrill! So, Congratulations today on your first Munro Rachel - hope I haven't put you off. Only 281 to go! I hope many of them are done in the company of your auld Paw.

The intrepid duo at the start of the day - bathed in sunshine

The Auld Guy

Rach strikes out - all happed up against the impending bad weather

At the Narnain Boulders

Reaching the snowline and a rare burst of sunshine

At the summit

Wipeout!

Wrapped up 

A Selfie at The Boulders

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!