Back to the Mounth!

Tired, and acheing in places I didn't know it was possible to ache - I awoke this morning with that post-hillwalking feeling, which is a combination of pain and satisfaction. Yesterday my wife and I had a memorable stomp acound the White Mounth area of the Cairngorms National Park, which involved four new Munros for her, and a trip down memory lane for us both. In student days in Dundee, which was unbelievably three decades ago, our first walks were in and around the Loch Muick area. The first time we went there, my little Ford Fiesta got stuck in the snow and was pulled out by a friendly local farmer! We went there many times in our first years together, and it's a place full of nostalgia for us. However, the reason we went there yesterday had nothing to do with sentiment - simply that while the rest of Scotland was dissapearing under a blanket of rain, the hills east of Glen Shee were to be assailed with little more than a lively wind.

The car park at the Spittal of Glenmuick now costs the walker five pounds to park in! The Royal Estates must be making more money from that car park than for the whole Duchy Originals operation. To be fair, the estate is ploughing a lot of money back into the land, with large forestry recovery programmes and footpath work throughout the vast miles within its boundaries.

There is always a lovely moment when the view of Loch Muick comes into view, with its dark inky waters framed by the high peaks. There is a path around the periphery of the loch which itself would make a pleasant afternoon walk; and we took the northern side of the loch past the Royals lochside house at Glass-allt-Shiel. Previous visits here have usually been on the way down from (another!) ascent of Lochnagar; but this time we kept on past the royal picnic spot, and pushed up towards the Dubh Loch at the head of the glen. Although I have walked these hills many times - somewhow this stretch had eluded me and one of the reasons for selecting this route was to correct that omission. It's a lonely but rather wonderful spot too, with steep cliffs, dark waters, sandy beaches and a good path that drives high into the wild country.

It reminded me of my own 'Brigadoon moment' in these hills many years ago. In appalling weather, I found myself climbing north out of the very end of Glen Clova. I was cold, wet, tired and possibly hallucinating. As I started to climb up the path towards the bealach looking over into Loch Muick, from the mist there emerged a shooting party returning from their kill. The tweed-clad men with their ancient rifles led a team of horses down the track, and over each one was slung a freshly shot deer. The tweed men, with their extensive moustaches, looked as if they had stepped out of the 1850s. In fact one of them looked uncannily like a painting I had seen of Prince Albert. They offered passing greetings as I strode up the stalkers path, but stared at me oddly. Had they never seen 1990s hillwalking gear before? Just as fast as the fog uncovered them, they dissappeared back into it and were gone. 

No such hallucinations, or holes in the space-time coninuum occured yesterday, just a pathless slog, NW up the heathery slopes towards the high path linking the munros. Càrn a' Choire Bhòidheach waa our first followed by a trudge around the plateau to Càrn an t-Sagairt Mòr. This expansive wide, topped munro is famous for it's aircraft wreckage left since 1952 when an EE Canberra bomber crashed here killing all on board. The twisted metal of a wing and two engines lie bleak and forlorn on the hillside, marking the spot where the crew lost their lives. It's remarkably well preserved and rust-free despite having lain there for seventy years. Rather mournfully it let out a creak as the fierce winds grabbed at it's edges. It was an eerie memorial, perhaps made all the more poignant by the fact that we were there on the day of the Air India crash.

The rocky summit of Cairn Bannoch was next, which in turn led to the great Broad Cairn. Although it was clouding up, much of route was visible below us in between the worst of it. The walk back along the tops above the Dubh Loch and towards Loch Muick is just wonderful, an elevated highway for walking boots, which although being whipped by high winds which impeded progress, afforded exhilirating views down to the loch, Glass-allt--shiel and up to Lochnagar. After the brutal descent to the loch on the zig-zag bulldozed track, it's a long walk out!

My first attempt to climb into the White Mounth was a failure! We made the mistake of trying to take the direct route to Loch Callater from near Baddoch on the A93 (Glen Shee) road, which was a sopping wet quagmire - all peat, water, mud and misery. After sheltering in the bothy by the loch for ages, when we attempted the hill our friend Chubb was literally blown away by the savagely high winds whereupon the whole thing was abandoned. I subsequently returned and cycled up to the loch from Auchallater years later - and this was a more successful attempt. Doing the round from Glen Muick is I think the best of the three routes though. Lochnagar itslef can be added to this round easily enough, although we elected to explore the Dubh Loch for the first time, rather than Lochnagar yet again!

These are big, expansive hills. And we had a great day out - pushing our hill-fitness levels beyond where they were really comfortable. It was good to get a day away with my wife (life has been busy!), and to revisit some much loved scenes from our well-spent youth. 

Back on two wheels...

I was a cyclist long before I was a hillwalker. The reasons for that were almost entirely practical. Although I have lived my whole adult life in Scotland, I grew up near Heathrow airport on the west side of London. Suburbia was very functional, but it wasn't exactly beautiful and holidays were always about gertting away from the built up area and out into countryside. Family holidays were to places like Cornwall, and regular trips were taken to our grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins in Dorset too. When I was fairly young I discovered that if I cycled long and hard enough, I could get myself out into some scenery at almost no cost. My first target was the lake at Virginia Water which I reached on the bike my grandpa made for me.. I must have been eleven or twelve.

My range increased massively when I got my first proper bike, a Dawes Fox. Although the frame was implausibly heavy, and it had full metal mudguards, flat pedals and five gears with little range - it allowed me to take off. More importantly it enabled me to join the church cycling club, which was run informally by a wonderful chap called Lionel who organised the rides, and helped us to maintain our bikes. It wasn't long before my 'Fox' started to look different as a result; the saddle was jacked up into a racing position, the pedals gained toe-clips, and a front-carrier for locks and food appeared between the drop handlebars, along with set of Ever Ready lights. Prune Hill, Englefield Green and Windsor Great Park were early routes, but then the North Downs became accessible, through Cobham and Effingham, opening up places like Ranmore Common. Dorking, Shere, and the White Downs. By this stage we estimated we were doing rides of up to fifty miles. 

Several tours across the country followed, staying in youth hostels and reaching the Cotswolds, Peak District, Malvwern Hills, and the Black Mountains of Wales. The big days out we did were often runs down to the sea and back; 100 miles plus days to Brighton, Bognor, or Littlehampton - which meant traversing both the North and South Downs  - both fine chalk hilly landscapes. I upgraded to an F.W. Evans Toure de Luxe, which was Reynolds 531 framed, with a wide range of gears and centre-pulled cantilever brakes! That old bike served me well until last year when the local bike shop told me that they would no longer be able to get parts for it.

I barely cycled for many years, bringing up children was a big priority - and I was also plodding my way round the Munros. However I have been out a bit more over the last couple of Summers - and this year even bought a new bike. And how times have changed in bike technology! This machine has a carbon frame, blue tooth gears, and disc brakes. It's a lovely bike. Although I a have to say that the saddle is far worse than the Maddison G11 I had in 1983!

I'll never forget being on the way back from a coast run when Lionel said, "Gavin, congratulations you are now a hundred-mile-a day man!" He had a little contraption on his wheel which counted the miles, and then later a handlebar computer which responded to a magnet clipped to a spoke going past a senson with each turn of the wheel - to calculate the miles. I didn't have even that rudimentary technology and had to trace my routes using string on the OS maps when  I got home. One year I was given a weird device that looked like a pen, which you dragged around your route on the map - and with a conversion tool for the map scale would enable you to worlk out the distance. It was a bit vague and certainly a far cry from Strava which just sits there and produces a huge harvest of stats for the ride. Distance, ascent, average speed, personal bests  - and route maps and speed charts, and more!

I was watching Strava ticking over on my phone on its handlebar mount today and was delighted when it clicked from 99.99 miles to 100! I had a delightful run from Perth to Glen Clova, Glen Prosen and Glen Doll, via Scone, Newtyle, Kirriemuir and up into 'The Angus Glens'. The vast ice-carved valleys cut deep into the high Cairngorm National Park and are spectacular, and in the hot dry May we are having absolutely boiling too. Running ahead of schedule (and not wanting to reach the Glen Clova Hotel before they were serving lunch), I had a nice detour to Glen Prosen Village, both taking in another glen and making sure I'd get to three figures! I passed the hotel and cycled up the upper part of the glen, and stopped at the Glen Doll car park from where I climbed Mayar from with my wife last week.  The strong headwind as I went up the glen was a reassuring sign that the way back would be a blast - which it was. Lunch and two pints of Coke at the hotel set me up perfectly for the long road home. Fantastic day out!

Cruach Àrdrain and Beinn Tulaichean: The Final Munro

On Saturday May 10th 2025, I finally completed my round of the Munros. It's taken a ridiculously long time, as I climbed the first one in my first week at university at the start of the 1990s! When I arrived in Dundee to start university, I had never heard of "Munro Bagging". It was in a church in Dundee that someone said to me, "We're going Munro-bagging tomorrow, do you want to come?" "You're doing what?" I replied - and when they expplained that they were going to climb one of Scotland's 3000ft plus mountains, I was in! 

We drove to Inverlochlairig and climbed Stob Binnien, but had to abandon plans to also do Ben More as thunderous clouds were rolling in from the West. Although I barely climbed any more hills in my undergrad years, I never forgot the view from Stob Binnien. I'd grown up either wandering in the plesant downlands of Southern England, or enjoying annual trips to Snowdonia - but Scotland was of a different order. The Crianlarich Hills are a wonderful viewpoint, and I can still remember staring on awe at the array of peaks in every direction. 

Although I did a lot of walking, ticking off peaks didn't become a thing I pursued until much later - and it happened by accident! When I had constructed walks in Englandshire, the routes were determined by the red-lines on the OS maps which showed rights of way. Scottish OS maps confused me, because there weren't any red lines. I worried that this meant that you weren't allowed to walk anywhere here! Of course the opposite it true - you can walk almost anywhere and so such lines would be superfluous. Someone around that time gave me a copy of McNeish's "Munro Almanac", a slim hardback book which contained route suggestions. So, being unsure about where I could walk, started using the advice in the book - and found some great walks. Early ascents started with the hills nearest Dundee, in Glen Shee and the Angus Glens.

By 1997 I found myself in Perth where I knew no-one, married to a Jnr Doctor working 100+hrs a week, who was on duty every other weekend. And so I used the spare time I had to start doing more and more walks. The Perthshire hills was climbed for the first time in this era, as well as many of the hills up the A9. I also discovered a few other people who were up for hills too. Roy and his Dad were often out, and they'd drive up from Glasgow and I'd meet them at Crianlarich and do hills around there and further West. My wife's cousin Paul lived in Edinburgh at that time too, and was a regular companion both to places like Glen Lyon nearby and my first trip to Torridon.

In 1998 I became part of Perth Baptist Church, which at that time had an amazing walking club, of enthusiastic Munro-baggers, who stretched my range and ambitions as we did Beinn a Ghlo, Knoydart, the Cairngorms, South Glen Shiel Ridge and some epic Scrambling in Glen Coe!

When our children arrived in 1999, 2002, and 2005 - progress inevitable slowed down! Many Saturdays which might have been spent in the hills were spent in the local park, or taking kids to parties, as my wife worked overnights in the Out of Hours Doctors service at PRI on Friday nights. Many of the hills which I managed at that time where in my annual walking week in May. My Mum and Dad, for many years gave me Christmas present of a weeks worth of  childcare - allowing me to head North and do some intensive walking. It was on these trips that I did The Fannaichs, The Beinn Dearg group, the Coulin Forest, and Torridon. On some especially memorable trips, my childhood friend Ian would come up from Birmingham and we'd meet our pal Kevin in Cawdor and head North West and climb hills. These wonderful times came to a shuddering halt after Kevin died in 2014. My trademark bright yellow "Climb for Kevin" T-shirt came from the charity walk we did in his memeory for Highland Hospice who had cared for Kev in his last weeks. I wore it for every single Munro from then until I completed the list, in memory of one of the finest people I've ever known.

I never really thought I'd do all the Munro's, but being in the hills is just such good fun! The Munro books (McNeish, The SMC Guide, Butterfield) and subsequently the WalkHighlands website kept supplying route ideas, and I kept doing them. As my kids got bigger they would come with us too - babies were carried up Beinn na Lap, and toddlers legs marched up Meall nan Tarmachan (though they didn't do the ridge!). Happily all three of them are now good walkers, the middle one also having an ML certificate too.

As the years wore on, my walk highlands Munro map was turning steadily blue - each mountain coloured red for "not yet climbed" changing to blue signifying "climbed". Peter walked with me for a few years before 'retiring', Cruachan, and Creag Meagaidh were highights. There came a point when there were about fifty left when I thought, that if I stopped just reclimbing my favourite ones again and again (Lochnagar, Meall nan Tarmachan, Breariach, Ben Vorlich) but ticked off new ones - then I could actually do this. My wife bought me a trip with a guide up the Inn Pinn - and joined me on it. We then bought a tent and managed to get in and do some really remote ones like Lurg Mor, or Meall Lundaidh. Our friend and neighbour Christine was often with us on these trips, and was a great encouragement in pressing on with the task - just as she had done, having completed her first round a couple of years ago.

Cruach Ardrain seems like a strange choice for the final one, which probably requires some explanation. You see, it wasn't ever the plan. Many years ago Roy and I had attempted Cruach Àrdrain and Beinn Tulaichean, but had failed to locate the true summit of Ardrain in appalling conditions. Although we had done 95% of the walk, it was left unfinished, lurking in the corner of my Munro map for almost twenty years. When the possibility of completetion arose, it seemed sensible to leave it to last for two reasons. First, it is close to Perth so I could invite a load of friends to join me for the last one. And second - I liked the symmetry of doing my first (Stob Binninen) and final (Cruach Ardrain) from the same car park. 

So on Saturday, eighteen of us met at the Inverlochlairig car park - which was full to the brim with vehicles. We marched the length of the road to the farm, went North up the track before turning west into the climb. It was a slow walk - a couple of folks had "come out of retirement!" for my last Murno  and hand't been up for years - bit it meant it was very sociable. People from school, university, church and neighbours - most of whom didn't know each other; all took to the hill together. It was a scorcher of a day too - and needless to say the views were magic! 

The reascent of Beinn Tulaichean lead to an obvious descent to a bealach and a good pull up onto Cruach Ardrain. It was interesting to see where Roy and I had gone wrong all those years before - and how easy navigation is in the sunshine. My pals lined up and saw me over the line on the final summit. My son produced a bottle of single malt whisky and a load of cups which were shared out eagerly. Happy, happy memories. 

We dropped back to the bealach, and turned down into the glen to avoid the reascent of Beinn Tulachean. The guide books and website all say that these hills are largely unpathed. However, I suspect that is changing fast as there are obvious trails worn through the landscape which pretty closely follow the WalkHighlands GPX file of the suggested route.

Back at the car we said farewell to those who couldn't come back to ours, and headed for home to light BBQ, and sink a celebratory pint. We were also joined that night by many other friends who have been involved in the hills with me over the years but for a host of reasons couldn't do the walk. A special mention goes to Dorcas and Anya, Kevin's wife and one of his daughters whose presence meant that Kevin was definitely not fogotten at my final Munro celebration.

Munro bagging is a curious pastime as it is both pointless and wonderful. Pointless because the 3000ft/914m demarcation has no basis in anything relevent. It is arbitrary and inconsequential. The best Corbetts are better than the worst Munros! The reclassifications of the hills which made my first paper Munro-map obsolete only increase the sense that this pastime is a more than a little random. It is though also wonderful. Munro bagging has taken me to wonderful places, made me climb things I never would have found. It has taken me to parts of Scotland which I never would have been to, which I now love. It has been a shared passion with others which had led to great memories, wonderful days, and friendships. It's really great.