The start of Munroing

A few months ago I realised that I had achieved nearly all the objectives I set myself when younger; the handful that remained were either now beyond my reach, or were going to have to wait for retirement years and hopefully the health to complete them.
Then I thought "I'm too young not to have a bucket list" so decided I needed a challenge. I had always been drawn to the romance of Munro bagging, so decided this was something to occupy spare time in the immediate future.
A Munro is a Scottish mountain above 3000 feet, a little over 900 meters, and there are nearly 200 of them - much debate rages over the precise number, but there are plenty for me to get on with. Until now I had climbed two - Ben Nevis at 1344 m and Meall Buidhe in Knoydart at 946.
Today I left the cottage at 6 a.m. to travel to Ardvorlich and attempt to "bag" Ben Vorlich and Stuc a Chroin (985 and 975 m respectively.)
I should have known it wouldn't be that simple - the drive was 140 miles each way and two and a half hours in duration - missing the Edinburgh rush hour was a bonus. But as I drove along the south shore of Loch Earn the cloud was moving in and the temperature was down to 3 centigrade.
Undaunted, and nothing if not determined, I set off full of enthusiasm and just reached the road into the Ardvorlich estate and realised I had left my glasses behind. Do I go back or try to do without them? The question was whether I would need to be able to read fine map detail in poor light. I took one look at the low cloud shrouding the lower hills and retraced my steps.
Having irked a local by not following the path the right way through the grounds of Ardvorlich Houe (see picture below) I was really pleased with the first half of the ascent - a nice broad track and a steady ascent. The down side was definitely the low cloud base, which was forecast to lift by lunchtime. I have one of these clever watches with built-in altimeter, which is actually pretty accurate. At 400 metres I was immersed in cloud, and I began to realise I had probably underestimated the challenge.

The very pleasant steady climb reaches the first of two steep ascents at around 700 metres, and it was around here I encountered this patch of unmelted snow. This I just wasn't expecting, but I could feel the almost freezing temperatures as an easterly wind gave me good cause to wish I had brought hat, gloves and an extra jumper.

But the path was distinct and clear so I kept going till I reached this - the path disappearing under a blanket of snow, and with only ordinary walking boots it was simply too steep to traverse. But my altimeter told me it was only about 20 metres to the summit so surely I couldn't give up now. Then I remembered that this was the north face of the mountain, and there might be another way up, so followed the coutour round and sure enough I was soon on a clear path from the west to the summit, and there was the trig point peering through the cloud.

So this is the selfie from the summit, with now freezing temperatures, a biting easterly wind and slight precipitation in the form of tiny snowflakes. I did not linger, other than to down a banana and some water and set off for what I hoped would be part 2 of the walk - from Ben Vorlich to Stuc a Chroin. Then the real problems began; the westerly path veering south-west off Ben Vorlich was nice and clear until it disappeared in rocks that had to be negotiated while descending steeply to the saddle between the two peaks. Then I found myself in the boggy ground where a spring emerged from the ground. I was already more than a little concerned that with visibility at about 30 metres and cloud base around 400m above sea level, and the promised improvement showing no sign of happening I was going to have to scale Stuc a Chroin by scrambling up rock (apparently a much tougher ascent than Ben Vorlich, but when I reached the summit I was then going to have to find a route off the other side, or else scramble back down and retrace my steps to Ben Vorlich.
Realising I had lost the path completely I consulted my compass, thinking I was facing roughly north, to discover I was facing almost directly south, and wherever the mountain was it clearly wasn't where I thought it should be. Fleetingly I wondered if the compass was faulty, but past experience has taught me that my sense of direction is a lot more fallible.
In short I was lost; I could see on the map (good job I did go back for my specs) where I thought I was, but all my senses told me I was somewhere else.
I had the further unsettling recollection that I had seen no one coming up Ben Vorlich and I might very well be on my own. I also realised that whilst it was Spring in Northumberland (my wife was busy getting sunburned while I was doing this) up here it was very much Winter. I could get completely lost and my only source of contact with anyone else was a 'phone whose signal was unreliable, though I had saved battery by not taking pictures on the way up (it has a really good camera so I didn't bring a separate one.)
The first pangs of genuine anxiety and common sense mandated an abandoning of the second peak, and a return to the nice clear path I had come up on.
But how to find it? Well I knew it was over to my left somewhere, and the ground rose there, so I just headed that way, my altimeter telling me I had about 250 metres now to climb to regain the summit of Ben Vorlich.
It was not fun, because I ended up approaching the rocky face I had scrambled down from a different angle and had half an hour's impromptu rock climbing to get up it. But I kept thinking "all I need to do is keep climbing."
What a massive relief when I clambered over yet another boulder to find the path back up to the summit. Back to the trig point (still a 100 m climb) and celebrated with some more fizzy water and demolishing the other banana. The only tricky bit now was to negotiate the snow field to regain the path back down.

 

This proved very simple, and knowing that all was now well I thought I would use my camera battery up taking photo's of the route back.
I felt disappointed, and a bit of a failure, and wondered whether I could have made Stuc a Chroin if my compass and map-reading skills were better, but in spite of all that I knew I had made the right decision.

I love it when routes are marked with cairns - the last 200 m or so of the climb had them beside the path periodically.
It was about here that I encountered a group of three hardy Scotsmen who had come up the mountain together - all with woolly hats, thick gloves and clearly more layers than I had on, who had reached the top and come straight back down because it was too cold and windy on the top and so had abandoned plans for the second peak. This made me feel a bit better.

Now at about 500 m the cloud was thinning out and I could enjoy the views. Somewhere near here I met a very nice American couple from Boston who described the atmosphere in the cloud as "romantic." Well - whatever floats your boat, but I think I will stick with the candlelit dinner.

Some pretty pictures of waterfalls and burns crossing the path.

Ardvorlich House seems to have its own hydro-electric scheme

How nice for a landowner to apologise to hill walkers for any inconvenience. A very pleasant change

Now just coming through the cloud base and just making out Loch Earn in the distance.

Errrr... another waterfall

Aha - things are becoming clearer

Almost down now I took this one of a hill near the start of the walk showing how low the cloud base was still - now 1.30 p.m.

The lambs here are only days old; some even in Northumberland were born around February

On the way up this little beauty came to a stile I was climbing over to say hello - so cute.

Nearly down and I spotted this Baptist digger

Why Baptist? Answers on a postcard

Ardvorlich House and the descent almost complete

Lovely pic of the burn just before it enters the loch - and a nice one of the tip of my left index finger.

Another one for the people who find little lambs adorable

In spit of this sign (which I think they had moved between me going up and coming down I still managed both legs of the walk by taking the wrong route through the farm buildings.

These three were just setting off - they were going to struggle to get up and down at the pace they were moving.

Pretty pics as the burn passes under the road and into the loch

Why a picture of dustbins? I just loved the crest of Perth and Kinross council

Nice one of the loch

... and another

This walking stick was given me by my little daughter, I think, some years ago. It doesn't have springs like my Leki pole, but it does have character, and I mainly want a stick - well, for company, I suppose, and the same sort of reasons boys tend to have sticks, so I think I'll keep it. This was some sort of a memorial stone to someone well-known who is buried nearby, but I couldn't read all the inscription.

What I love about Scotland - people caravanning in passing places on minor roads and no one around to tell them they can't.

A welcome sight at the end of what turned out to be a quite satisfying bagging of a Munro. I will be back for Stuc a Chroin - the views from the top of both are apparently fantastic, with Stuc a Chroin just having the edge, so I think an ascent from a different direction on a clear day will be called for.