Twenty Years after bagging my first Munro, I headed back to The Highlands of Scotland in the company of my eldest Son, Benjamin. Here's what we got up to.
Third time lucky! After two days of novelty nonsense, the vase of fate served up a pint half-litre of the Harviestoun Brewery's 4.8% masterpiece Schiehallion, named after my all-time favourite munro. Here's an interesting fact for you
"You seem to be going awfully fast," said the perspiring southern lady on the footpath to Stac Pollaidh, "would you pull me up?" I smiled politely, but in reality I was both shocked and pleased to have realised that over
I still can't quite believe that we all woke up at 6:30am on a Saturday. But evidently it happened. The journey up to Killin was fantastic, truly amazing. All the floods, cloud, and rain had been left behind in
08:48 Sitting in a cold Volvo a few miles from Bridge of Orchy. It's almost too cold to write, or maybe I've just forgotten how. Rich and Bruce have headed off to bag another couple of munros. I reiterated
Day Five - Beinn Dorain (3,530ft, 1,076m), Beinn An Dothaidh (3,287 ft, 1,002m) More rain. Can you spot a pattern, dear reader? So we sped over to the western highlands and bagged a couple of munros
Day Three - Beinn A'Chaorainn (3,550ft / 1,082m), Beinn Bhreac (3,054ft / 931m). On which it rained a lot. Lots of walking across boggy marshy stuff sprinkled with deer and sheep crap. Another metaphor for life, then. I've never
Day Two - Carn A'Mhaim (3,402ft / 1,037m), Ben Macdui (4,295ft / 1,309m). I'm really not fit enough for this lark. As Rich later said, "Nel has invented a pace between stop and walk." But at least I