A busker pauses for breath in the Scottish Highlands. Photo / Paul Davies
A busker pauses for breath in the Scottish Highlands. Photo / Paul Davies
Paul Davies stands atop Bidean nam Bian pleased to bag a Munro and learn four new words to describe rain.
I am certain I am on track. Absolutely certain. Going straight up the mountain is much quicker than a dogleg. The path isn't well-marked anyway, and cutting your own path comes naturally to Kiwis.
That's what we do, we're adventurers (Sir Ed and all that). Besides, this is the Scottish Highlands we're talking about; high lands - they're barely mountains. Ours are two, three times the size. A beeline to the summit will work out fine.
It doesn't. I overshoot the path and end up stranded above a 100m high ledge. After conquering my first four summits in Scotland with ease, on the last climb I've gotten wildly lost. I try channelling the spirit of Hillary, but perhaps that is my problem - I am seeking inspiration from the wrong Sir.
The Scots have their own climbing pioneer; Sir Hugh Munro. Sir Hugh might not have climbed as high as Sir Ed, but he climbed a lot.
He was the first man to chart Scotland's highest mountains, producing a list of 283 separate peaks in 1891 that surpassed 3000ft (914m). They're known as "Munros" and it wasn't long before climbers were out to collect the set - a feat known as "Munro bagging".
Travelling with an old friend who's caught the Munro bug, we arrive in Glasgow from London, laden with gear. Joe has about 80 Munros and he is keen to head north and bag some more. Having none under my belt and a new pair of boots I am definitely the greener climber.
We cruise north around the shores of Britain's largest inland stretch of water, Loch Lomond, to Glencoe, a spectacular valley with a troubled history. It's remembered as the scene of the brutal slaying of the MacDonald clan by government troops led by a Campbell. More than three centuries later, the Campbells are still not forgiven.
Climbing the Munros in Scotland. Photo / Paul Davies
We are in Glencoe to climb Bidean nam Bian, a Munro of 1150m. From the carpark, the mountains looked bigger than I'd imagined. On paper, the height didn't bother me, but the high cliffs, rocky outcrops and dramatically steep valley carved out by an ice-age glacier are starting to intimidate. Add a tragic 17th century backstory on a cold, grey day and some eerie tones accompany our ascent.
As the voices from the charter buses and bagpipes of a local busker trail away, I start feeling the isolation. Despite the activity by the highway, most people aren't there to climb. They pull over for a photo and flick the busker a pound.
We, on the other hand, are heading to the top. The path steepens, the foliage disappears and then we notice we are being watched. A large stag stands just 30m away. Another appears, then another, until a small herd saunters into view before galloping down the valley.
After a while, the new boots start telling me they aren't as good a fit as I first thought. Plasters don't cut it, especially when it gets more challenging. Which it does. Steps give way to boulders and the temperature drops considerably. The lush green and calming river of the open valley gives way to a harsh background of rock, snow, ice and a piercing, constant wind.
Climbing the Munros in Scotland. Photo / Paul Davies
And the rain, the never-ending rain. The Scottish are said to have more ways to describe rain than Eskimos have for naming snow. Murr, musk, huther, hagger - all slightly different nuances on the wet stuff. I think I am experiencing most of them.
We complete the final scramble to the top of Bidean nam Bian and the clouds part to let us see the village of Glencoe and across to mighty Ben Nevis - which at 1344m is the tallest mountain in the British Isles. Heading down, we encounter another climber who is raising money to fight Parkinson's disease. His name is Jack Campbell and he's known as the "Munro Hunter" - he's set himself the goal of climbing all of Scotland's 282 Munros (one was removed from the original list) in 100 days. Stark. Raving. Mad.
Standing atop ancient mountain ranges steeped in history is a scintillating experience - it has you tallying your score and planning more. The thought of climbing all of them in one summer brings me out in a cold sweat, I'm no Munro Hunter. I'm the guy who gets ridiculously lost, scrambles down a ledge, across a river and then chases a hydro engineer to get a lift out of the wilderness to join your mate who's waiting in the carpark. Stick to the path people.
CHECKLIST
Getting there: Cathay Pacific flies daily from Auckland to Edinburgh, flying via their hub in Hong Kong.
Details: For information on Jack Campbell's mission to raise money to fight Parkinson's disease by climbing all of Scotland's 282 Munros, go to themunrohunter.org. He's due to climb the last one, Ben Lomond, on October 17.
