A new year begins. There was no need for resolutions — my challenges multiply happily on their own. The further north I push, the more difficult the logistics, especially without a tent or a car. Oban offers a perfect base, surrounded by a good public transport system. The plan is to explore the coastline north and south, visit some of the Slate Islands and head inland to climb mountains with my eldest son, Cal. I have the luxury of a Premier Inn. For some strange reason, there are plenty of cheap rooms in January.
It may be a new year, but the train network suffers the same old problems. Due to an incident at Milton Keynes, all trains from London Euston are suspended. I dash across to Kings Cross and take an alternative route to Glasgow via Edinburgh, making the last train from Glasgow to Oban with two minutes to spare. I’d been running various fallback plans, but now I can finally relax and enjoy the journey, although the fine views vanish into the darkness.
Cal joins me late at night after a four-hour drive from Aberdeen Uni.
Next day
We are up at 6 am and drive in the dark to a rough layby near the Cruachan Power Station Visitor Centre. The aim is to climb Ben Cruachan, at 3,694 feet the highest mountain in Argyll and my first Munro, before continuing round a horseshoe ridge to Stob Diamh, a second Munro. The total ascent is 4,500 feet, which will be a shock to my system after almost two months at home enjoying too many mince pies over Christmas and New Year.
The walk begins with a steep climb through gnarly oaks, tracking a burn cascading down a small gorge. I try to avoid the spindly branches whipping back as Cal pushes through. The dawn sun struggles to push through the clouds over Loch Awe.
The path levels out on the approach to the reservoir dam. Cal planned to teach me some winter hiking skills, but most of the snow has sadly melted, so the crampons were left in the hotel room, although we carry ice axes for safety in the unlikely event they are needed at the summit.
The concrete supports are immense and form an excellent echo canyon, which is our cue for messing around with rhythmic clapping and chanting. Cal eyes up the challenge of testing his climbing skills on a buttress. Best move swiftly on.
A metal staircase leads up to the top of the dam, where an access road makes for easy walking along the side of the reservoir.
A rough path leads west off the road, following a burn up the glen to a bealach with a small lochan, before turning sharply north up the mountainside. The clouds envelop us and the wind strengthens. The forecast was for a clear summit and we hope for a cloud inversion.
The forecast is a little off, arriving at the summit and the stump of a former trig point — there are no views. The forecast did get the wind speed right, with 45mph gusts blasting us, dripping with moisture. Regardless, I’m excited to bag my first Munro and especially to make it with Cal. I don’t often get to share these moments.
Hunkered down behind rocks to shelter from the wind, there’s time for food and a sip of welcome hot coffee before throwing on the layers for an exposed and bitterly cold ridge crossing.
The ridge is wide and the crossing is straightforward apart from the foul weather and a section of slippy sloping slabs, which we decide to skirt round. Cal glances round regularly to make sure I’m still there. I consider hiding for a moment but this is no place for messing around. Crying wolf is never a good idea. There are no views, but the mist parts briefly to grab a quick photo of him.
Several small tarns are frozen. The ice does not break despite Cal’s attempts, tossing rocks high into the air.
The climb up to the peak of the second Munro is hard. Very hard. I struggle, slow and plod on, while Cal waits patiently.
“Almost there.”
A flashback to family holidays — our roles have reversed.
There’s nowhere to shelter on top, so we only pause briefly before heading down.
Cal points to a ptarmigan. I’ve seen several in other seasons, but this is the first in its brilliant white winter plumage.
We finally break out of the mist and the dam appears below.
A long descent eventually joins up with the access road. The reservoir is fed by several burns, one of which feeds a long tunnel, running for over a kilometre under the mountain. We can’t resist exploring, although my camera is a little shaky for the flash. It would be great to walk through to the far end if we had more time.
Crossing the top of the dam, we walk down to the road in the dusk, just managing without recourse to our head torches.
I’m exhausted after a hard day’s hiking in tough conditions. I’d have turned back before the second Munro without Cal. We grab a beer in the Wetherspoons and then restore a few calories with delicious pizza in a nearby restaurant before crashing out at the hotel. Or at least I crash out — lightweight that I am. How do people manage to climb all 282 Munros? I’ll choose the most interesting on my coastal journey.
Date of walk: Thursday 16 January 2025.
Walk distance: 9 miles.
Total distance: 4,774 miles.
It looked wild up there.
You are never to old to start on the Munros.
That’s the encouragement I need!
Congratulations on “bagging” your first Monroe – I have two under my belt and that’s probably the end of it. Great photos and what a lovely experience to walk with your son.
Thanks Patricia. I certainly plan to hike the ones that feature in the various books I’ve read.
Our friends Jayne and Mark have only a handful left to do. Mark is 60 later this year and they hope to complete before then. I have climbed Munros quite a few times – though several of them have been Ben Lomond! Never again.
Cal is on his 57th and did say that our view that day was typical of his summit views. Mind you, the stunning views, when they come, make it worthwhile. 🙂
A grand start to the new year. Do it while we still can 😉
Quite! 🙂