one down, 282 to go!!

I think it is important for me to mention that this is absolutely not a blog about Munro bagging. That being said, I will be writing about each Munro as it happens...but nae technical stuff mind, just the Anxious Ambler's authentic experiences of each mountain.

Think of me as a blogging bagger, not a bagging blogger. And now we've cleared that up...

Last Friday (the 9th of September) I bagged my first Munro!!

Awoke early feeling groggy, and achy. My hips were sore; I blame swimming and possibly lugging luggage up into Edinburgh's old town a few days prior, helping a good North Carolinian friend who has moved to this fair city. But there was also a hint of excitement in the air, of nervous energy, of, dare I say it, anxious anticipation...

I started the day as I'm sure all Munro climbers do. Breakfast. I mention it because I'm not really a breakfast kinda gal. But even I know that you need fuel in the car when you're going up a 3,000foot mountain. It had to be a Scottish breakfast - no, not an unhealthy fry-up (who said Scotland has a bad diet??), but the food of the gods - porridge. Microwaveable porridge, no less. Only it was so hot I couldn't eat it for at least 10 minutes. And I won't lie, mid-way through the bowl I really had to force it down. I kept thinking to myself, its mountain fuel, its mountain fuel. I think me and porridge will have to work really hard on our relationship...

Met Mum and the wee-est brother Ross at Hillend, before making our way 'oot west' towards Loch Lomond. I told Mum to drive fast, before the porridge wore off.

It was a horrible day. Misty, wet, or to use a better word - dreich. I love how the Scottish language (as it is, after all, a language, nae a dialect!) gives you such appropriate words, that really sound as they mean, and mean as they sound. Dreich. I love how the Scottish weather presenters use it. I don't love how frequently they use it, but it truly is perfect. And thats what it was that day, pure dreich.

It took us about an hour and a half to get out to Rowardennan, the start of the walk. The forecast was optimistic, the mist was to clear later in the day, and we felt that after travelling all the way out there, it would be foolish not to attempt the climb.

And off we went.

It was hard. I was under no illusions that it was going to be easy, but it was far harder than I had imagined. I'd heard a lot about Ben Lomond, about the tourist track to the top, how it was a "motorway of Glaswegians" all the way. I was also aware that for many people, it is the first Munro they do. It is the most southerly of them all. So perhaps with all these thoughts in my mind, I thought I'd find it easier than I did. But, to give myself credit, I'm not fit, and regardless of how "easy" the terrain is, Ben Lomond is still a mountain over 3,000feet, and you're not that far from sea level either.

Thank goodness we could not see the summit at any moment of the climb. There were a few hilarious moments where we thought we were further up than we were ("this must be half-way!!"). Mind you, we only realised how wrong we had been on the way back down, when visibility was more than 3 metres. Had we realised how much was still to go, how much was still ahead of us, and how steep it was...well, physically and mentally it would have been tough. As strange as it may seem, I was immensely glad we couldn't see very far in front of ourselves.

Most of all, I was very aware of going through different phases of the climb. Not just physical things, like the change of terrain, the change of weather that occasionally enabled us to have some views, or the change of gradient, but also changes in the way I saw the climb. Emotional changes, from feeling up for the challenge, to feeling demoralised by the seemingly never-ending effort it required, to ultimately the feeling of...I can't give up, I just can't. But should I be this out of breath? This sweaty? This unfit??

The moment a strand of hair brushed my lips and I tasted salt in my hair I knew I was really struggling.

It seemed like it would go on forever. Two hours had passed since we left Rowardennan, and still no way we were even close. Needless to say, there weren't many people on the mountain that day, but those we did see were very encouraging. The mountain camaraderie is something not to be underestimated. The banter mainly centered on the tremendous "views" we would certainly not get from the top.

The last bit was the hardest. Every person we passed said we were close. Yet we couldn't see anything more than a few steps ahead of us. How would we know where the summit was, and when we would get there?! It was the most surreal experience, but what a buzz. And then eventually:




the summit of Ben Lomond, my very first Munro

 We did not spend long at the top. You couldn't see a thing. But what the hell, I already know what Loch Lomond looks like. It seemed unfair and disproportionate to have taken two and a half hours to get to the summit and then spend less than two and a half minutes up there, but the swirling mist, wind and rain made me cold to my very soul. Plus, we still had to have lunch.

So off we went back down! The descent was tough going. Buoyed slightly by deliciously squished sandwiches, a few swigs of Miller (ok not quite champagne but indeed the champagne of beers...or so they say - they being Miller of course), and the sense of achievement, we made our way down. It took about two hours to get down, and it was utterly miserable. The sheer pain; in the knees and the hips most of all. They were like jelly. I longed for it to be over.

Thankfully, we got some amazing views on the way back down (typical!). I just love the clouds in Scotland. They do such different things every single day, and so no view is ever the same. We got some particularly nice cloud movements on the descent:

Five hours after we had started, Mum, Ross, and me made it back to the car. We ached all over. We were wet; through equal measures of sweat and moisture from the mist. Our feet hurt, our boots were muddy. But we'd done it.

Despite the fact it was so hard, and so miserable at so many moments, the feeling of getting to the top was a buzz like no other. It must be what gets people hooked on this.

Pain, but lots and lots of pride.