You never climb the same mountain twice

Since injury struck in March I’ve finally nursed myself back to a level of hill fitness. In June I spent a week up in Kintail and managed to climb a couple of munros and some smaller hills. Although the the big routes for which the area is famous were beyond me I was still elated to reach the solitary summit of Ciste Dubh. I crossed Am Bathach, the Corbett to its south under grey clouds and in driving hail. Reaching the col (bealach a Choinich – or the col of the bog – the name is apt) the weather had only worsened and I was in two minds about continuing to the munro but I’m so glad that I did. The sun came out on the final ascent and the fin shaped summit was really beautiful. Ciste Dubh is probably the most attractive munro that I’ve climbed alone.

Ciste Dhubh, ascent, June 2015

While injured I tried not to think about the mountains at all and over the last 3 or 4 months I’ve spent more time playing guitar than pouring over mountain maps. But now, in recovery, my mind turns to the mountains again. I’ve wanted to write something about the ‘list ticking’ aspect of peak bagging for a while. Spending a week in Wales with J recently, we climbed Snowdon and the Glyders together – all repeat routes for me. J is a fair weather walker and on our last walk together in February I regretted taking her on a miserable bog trot across 2 of the more obscure and uninteresting summits accessible from the Ogwen valley (only chosen because they were on my tick list). This time, I think J appreciated the solid paths on these more popular routes.

Time in the mountains is so precious and I’m so single minded in my pursuit of the munros and the Welsh 2000ers that part of me would have preferred to avoid re-visiting mountains already climbed. Really I would have loved to have picked off some new summits. But things on my radar either involved exposure (the Nanttle ridge) or bog trots (the northern Carneddau) – all of which would have made a dreadful day for J. Despite getting soaked on Snowdon, both days were really enjoyable. Up on the Glyders I climbed the cantilever stone and scaled Castell y Gwynnt (a really good little scramble) – both things I’d missed on my first walk across the Glyders.

Ciste Dhubh, descent, June 2015

Peak bagging is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it can take you well off the beaten track to some beautiful locations that you wouldn’t otherwise get to. On the other hand I think it can deny you the opportunity of really getting to know a particular mountain or route. I’ve heard it said that “you never climb the same mountain twice”. Weather conditions and your own frame of mind always make each return to a mountain feel different. I’ve now stood on Snowdon’s summit in blazing sunshine, pouring rain and freezing snow and the mountain feels all the more familiar to me for these repeat visits.

I’ve also realised than when enjoying the mountains with others who don’t share my obsession with list ticking, it’s just not fair to drag them up routes that are either too difficult or too dull for them. While opportunities to get into the mountains are not as frequent as I would like, I’m slowly learning that I don’t have to climb a new mountain every single time I go out. That said, the greater distance and cost involved in getting up to Scotland means that when I do repeat hills, they are far more likely to be in Wales.

Atop Castell y Gwynt, July 2015

Looking ahead I hope to manage the Aonach Eagach ridge in September and to tick off some of the Lawers munros in October. Initially I’d planned to sweep through the latter in one giant day of seven munros. However, given my recent experience of injury I think it will be sensible to divide the Lawers range over two or three trips. The sports masseur who has helped me back to fitness since March has extensive experience as a triathlete and long distance runner and she has battled overuse injuries herself. Her best advice to me was that as far as endurance activities go (and mountain walking definitely falls into that category) it can take a few years for the body to really accustom itself to the stresses associated with the activity. So before I launch into 30k routes with 2000m of elevation it will pay dividends for me to spend a couple more years walking at half that level of intensity before stepping things up.

From Moel Eilio to Snowdon: 2014 draws to a close

Although I made a few forays into the mountains of Wales and Scotland in previous years, 2014 has been the first that I’ve managed to get into the mountains regularly. Over the last 12 months I have really begun to build my hill fitness and improve my navigation skills. I have covered a distance of over 350km, with a total vertical ascent of 27482m, bagging 33 munros, 20 hewitts and a one active volcano. It has been a year of many firsts. My first solo munro (Stob Coire Raineach), my first solo winter day (Y Garn), my first day bagging 2 munros (Buachaille Etive Mor), my first route over 30k (Black Mountains), my first day with more than 2000m of ascent (Crianlarich 4), my first summit above 2000m (Japan) and my first solo scramble (Bristly Ridge). With all this under my belt I feel a real sense of pride and achievement, particularly given how far from the mountains I am based – for every hour above the tree line there must be at least another two either sat behind the wheel of a car or idling in airports.

Soon after returning from Japan at the end of October I was back in the Highlands to add Ben Lomond and Ben Vorlich to my munro tally. On paper neither of these munros should present too much of a challenge. However, the weekend that I climbed them in November the weather was atrocious. Atop Ben Vorlich I encountered the fiercest winds imaginable, reducing me to a crawl at one point. In such conditions it might have seemed foolish even to continue. Perhaps it was, although I feel I can rationalise my decision to press on because the summit area of Vorlich is reasonably broad and the visibility was pretty good. Had I been faced with a narrow ridge or other serious exposure I would certainly have turned around.

View towards Ben Nevis, Glencoe, November 2014

With those two cold and lonely days near Loch Lomond behind me it was a real pleasure later in the month to meet up with other keen walkers at the Walkhighlands autumn meet in Tyndrum. The day on Bidean Nam Bean was spectacular. Great views across the AE ridge and northwards first snows settling on Ben Nevis, CMD and Aonach Mor whetting my appetite for the winter ahead. Reaching the summit of Snowdon in December meant that I had managed to get out to Wales or Scotland at least once a month in 2014. It was a long, fulfilling day and a fitting end to a year of mountains.

I made a very early start, reaching the car park in Llanberis under moon and stars and watching the sun rise as I climbed the northern slopes of Moel Eilio. Alone and in the still of dawn every single sound registers so clearly, from the crunch of semi frozen earth beneath my boots to heaps of slate crashing down a nearby mountainside and the thud of a Sea King helicopter flying overhead. My planned route was just over 22km, traversing from Moel Eilio over to Foel Gron and Moel Cynghorion before heading up to Snowdon itself via the Ranger path and then descending the Llanberis path. In order to avoid any descent in darkness, an early start was imperative. Still, a survival bag, extra food, spare gloves, warm layer and head torch were all stowed in my bag – just in case.

Dawn breaks over Snowdon’s north west ridge, December 2014

Before long I was enjoying hot coffee and a snack at the top of Moel Eilio. Navigation was straightforward in such good visibility and at one point around 10am I could make out the shelter on Snowdon’s frosty summit. Until reaching the Ranger Path I had hardly seen another soul all day. A group of three other walkers had followed me round from Moel Eilio and we bumped into one another near Moel Cynghorion and climbed together for the first section of the Ranger Path. These walkers were properly suited and booted for the season and I expect they were as stunned as I was to notice how many people were making their way towards the snow line clearly unprepared for the winter conditions that lay ahead. While my ice axe stayed strapped to my pack the whole day I put my crampons on at around the 800m mark and as I climbed above the snow line the cloud dropped and visibility fell to around 20m.

I had heard all the stories about people climbing Snowndon in jeans and flip flops but had assumed that it was exclusively a summer phenomenon. At the summit itself, I was amazed to see a few people arriving in jeans and soaking wet trainers. I even saw one chap huffing and puffing his way to the top in jeans and a T-shirt. His top was a couple of sizes too small for him and the guy was obviously a gym addict, with muscles bulging for all to see. I wasn’t sure what would motivate this sort of bravado (or is it simply stupidity?) When you are surrounded by snow and the air temperature is perhaps minus six degrees celcius, what on earth possesses someone to strip down to a cotton T-shirt?

Snowdon summit, December 2014

After enjoying my sandwiches at the top I turned and headed for home. I narrowly avoided a navigation error on the descent. At first retracing my steps on the Ranger Path I recalled that I should keep the railway to my left to descend the Llanberis path until Clogwyn station. Crossing back over the tracks I picked up the correct path. Lower down, near the snow line, I got a great view of the fearsome crags of Clogwyn. With just an hour or so of daylight left I was again astonished to see so many people still making their way up. There was no way they would make it to the top and back down before dark. Some of them weren’t even carrying packs – so no torches or extra warm clothes, let alone axes or crampons. On the one hand it was great to see people challenging themselves and enjoying the mountains – perhaps for the first time in their life – but on the other hand it was disheartening to see such flagrant disregard for safety and such lack of respect for the mountain (I picked up several pieces of litter during my descent). My thoughts turned to the brave men and women of the Snowdonia mountain rescue teams who put their own lives on the line to come to the aid of people who get into trouble in the mountains. It must infuriate them to see people so ill prepared for winter conditions.

In any event, I arrived safely back at my car with daylight to spare. 2014 has been a terrific year and I look forward to many more mountains in 2015. Next weekend I will be back in Snowdonia. Hopefully I’ll get some blue skies and crisp white snow. However, as I sit and write this in London on 28th December the weather in almost every mountain area of Britain has been spectacular – which just about guarantees it will be dreadful next weekend! Well, you never know….

See more of my 2014 photos here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/sbk21/sets/72157649859618061/

And my walk highlands reports (including gps tracks) here: http://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/blogs/Riverman

Mountains and volcanoes of Japan – autumn 2014

On Sunday 29th September, after months of anticipation, I climbed aboard a British Airways 777 at Heathrow, bound for Tokyo’s Haneda airport. J and I had been planning this trip for months and I was perhaps as excited about the journey as the destination. All the air miles that I had accumulated while travelling for work between 2009 and 2011 were exchanged for return tickets in First Class, a treat we would never ordinarily have afforded.

Our three weeks in Japan passed all too quickly and I can’t hope to recount all of our amazing experiences there in one blog post. While our itinerary (mostly completed via the magnificent Shinkansen bullet trains) took us to Hiroshima, Kyoto, Osaka and back to Tokyo, in this post I will concentrate on our time in Miyajima in the south, and the Alps region in Honshu, where we sampled the delights of mountain walking, Japan style.

Miyajima

Miyajima

Miyajima is a tiny, hilly island just off the coast near Hiroshima. It is a lovely spot to overnight in a traditional Japanese ryokan, a lodging where zen and comfort combine. Famous for its Tori shrine, while on the island we also took the opportunity to climb to its summit, Mount Misen (535m) to enjoy spectacular views of the coast around. The trails up and down were well marked and though the mountain is not particularly high, it is a steep climb from sea level and the rocky summit has the feel of a ‘proper’ mountain. It had been a few weeks since my fairly testing round of four of the Crianlarich munros and it was reassuring to zip up and down Misen with my legs feeling strong. I had not been able to pack hiking poles in my luggage and I have come to depend on them quite a bit on my trips to Wales and Scotland. The fact that I could climb comfortably without them for a day is witness to the strength I feel I have developed, compared to my first, fairly painful forays into the world of mountain walking in 2012.

Misen summit view

From Takayama to the Alps

After an unforgettable week in Kyoto and Osaka we continued northwards to Takayama. A small, peaceful city in stark contrast to the mayhem of Tokyo and Osaka, Takayama sits at around 570m above sea level. It was from here that I caught my first glimpse of the high peaks of the Alps, towering over 3000m on the horizon. Soon we could see the mountains even more clearly, as a bus carried us towards the resort of Kamikochi. With private cars prohibited in the resort centre, buses are the only means of transport in or out. As we crept through a tunnel burrowed several kilometres inside an enormous mountain, along immaculately maintained tarmac, I was reminded of my rather bumpier trips along the A82 from Glasgow to Crianlarich this year. I wonder if the Japanese could spare a few of their road engineers to sort out that mess at Pulpit Rock? While they’re over, perhaps they could fix us up with some nice new trains too?

Kamikochi

In Kamikochi we stayed at a guest house run by an experienced Japanese mountaineer. The lodging had a fantastic library of mountain literature, and photographs on the wall of Mr Okada’s expeditions in the Himalayas, including K2 and Everest. On the first afternoon we enjoyed a pleasant stroll along good paths to explore the valley itself, with magnificent mountains all around us. Until dusk the trails were very busy. Accommodation in Kamikochi itself is limited, and most visitors jump on a bus at the end of the day, to return to Matsumoto or nearby Hirayu Onsen. The autumn weather was perfect and we had a good look at our objective for the next day – Yake Dake, an active volcano climbing to 2455m above sea level.

Yake Dake (2455m)

Luckily, the good weather held and early the next morning we set out on the trail, passing the ‘Weston Memorial’ – a small dedication to Walter Weston, an English missionary who is widely credited as one of the pioneers of mountaineering in Japan. Notwithstanding the good weather, we set out into the cold, clear dawn still with some trepidation. A couple of weeks earlier, the very day we had left for Japan, there had been a terrible disaster on another nearby volcano, Mount Ontake, where an eruption of steam and water had claimed 57 lives. From what we had read and heard, the phreatic type of eruption that had occurred is extremely difficult for seismologists to predict. The evening before our attempt on Yake Dake, I had asked Mr Okada whether he considered the popular route to be a dangerous proposition, in the wake of recent events. His answer was straightforward, “Of course it is dangerous. It is a mountain. But people climb it all the time and the trail is clear. I expect you will be fine.” Can’t argue with that, all mountains are potentially dangerous, volcano or not.

The first part of the climb takes you through quite dense forest. It takes a reasonable amount of time to get above the tree line. This frustrated me a little. One of the great things about any mountain day in Britain (or anywhere else as far or further north) is the speed with which you get above the trees and (on a clear day) are rewarded with views. Another odd thought that struck me was that our hike today would begin an end on a valley floor that already sits about 100m higher than the summit of Ben Nevis. Indeed, while today’s route would take me to the highest summit I have ever reached under my own steam (cable cars to 2000m in Austria and motor cars to 3000m in Armenia don’t count!) the day would only involve around 950m of vertical ascent, something I ought to manage easily enough after a year of intense munro bagging.

At the col

As we crept above the trees we encountered a steep section whose ascent is facilitated by long, almost vertical fixed ladders. I had mixed feelings about these. On the one hand, it is great that they open the way to everyone – and the route was certainly busy. But they do spoil the natural environment somewhat. Ultimately I had to be thankful for them because I am no rock climber and, I suspect, without them, would not have been able to continue. After the next section we reached a col that was a natural resting spot. Here we were surprised to find a small hut selling refreshments, including cold beer sitting in a bucket of melting ice! I found this very strange – beer at 2000m in between steep ladders and a rocky scramble to a volcanic summit. Maybe not the best idea.

One of these

Followed by one of these?

Departing the col we enjoyed simply spectacular views all around. My heart was really stirred by the sight of these enormous mountains. Looking at the way ahead I was excited to think how high we were about to climb. As we neared the summit evidence of volcanic activity was all around us; fluorescent sulphur deposits on the rock, steam venting from cracks in the mountainside and the powerful odour of rotting eggs. It’s fair to say that by this stage of the day I was enjoying things rather more than J was. After all the fun I had had on the Cuillin and the Glyders earlier in the year, this was just the icing on the cake for me – an unforgettable and awe inspiring mountain environment in a strange but wonderful foreign land. While I felt in my element, I think for J the sensations were less pleasant. While she enjoys hill walking (and we have walked together in Wales and the Lakes) this terrain was harder, rockier and less forgiving than anything she had experienced before. She certainly felt exposed and was fearful of a slip. Little good it did me to try to reassure her that the trail was really very good and the exposure really minimal, even compared with a ridge like Crib Goch, let alone the Cuillin.

Japan Alps

Reaching the south summit (around 2400m) we did not stay long. The route to the true summit (at 2455m) is not passable without technical climbing. We took photos and headed off. As much as I was enjoying the sensational views, the image of hikers running from the ash cloud on Ontake was at the front of my mind, and I knew J was eager just to get down. After navigating the ladders in reverse we stopped again at the little hut to have our snack bar lunch and drink some water – I resisted the temptation to grab a beer! Before too long we were back below the trees. We passed dozens of other hikers making their way up. I almost ran out of breath uttering “konichiwa” and offering a slight bow to everyone we passed. These frequent encounters and busy trails stand in contrast to some of the quieter mountain days I’ve had this year in Wales and Scotland. At the valley floor we also ran across a few monkeys – quite different from the wildlife in Glencoe!

That evening, I retired to my bed (well, my Japanese bedding laid atop tatami mats on the floor of our zen room) with that very pleasant feeling of tiredness that only a good day in the mountains can deliver. The next morning I was relieved at the hard rain pouring down outside but spared a thought for those who would climb today. Our luck with the weather could not have been better. Before leaving I chatted briefly with Mr Okada about the mountains of the UK. He was aware of the famous climbs on Ben Nevis and mentioned that Tower Ridge looked like a superb winter climb. He showed me photos of some of the winter climbing on the northern island of Hokkaido which looked fantastic. By the end of the day, after a bus ride to Nagoya, a local train to Tokyo’s Shinjuku station and the tastiest railway lunch box you can imagine, we were back in the mega metropolis where our exploration of Japan had begun a couple of weeks before.

Our trip to Japan really was the trip of a lifetime. The climbs of Misen and Yake Dake are etched just as firmly in the memory as our days among the splendid shrines and temples of Kyoto and the awesome energy of Tokyo and Osaka. I would certainly love one day to return to Japan and see more of the country and its mountains. More of my photographs from this trip are at my flickr.

Four more round Ben More

September saw me return to Scotland to bag a few more munros before heading off on holiday to Japan. I’d tackled the western three Crianlarich munros earlier in the year on an epic, 10 hour day that ended in darkness and driving rain. This time, my aim was to spend a Friday warming up in Glencoe by climbing Creise and Meall a’Bhuiridh and then on Saturday cover the eastern four Crianlarich munros in one go, to take me to the milestone of 30 munros.

Meall a’Bhuiridh

On Friday, Creise and Meall a’Bhuiridh were dispatched without much difficulty (though insects were certainly a distraction and I had my head net on for much of the day). I climbed in warm sunshine and had the whole route to myself. Meall a’Bhuiridh is sadly scarred by the ski lifts but once the ridge is crossed over to Creise some fine views are a reward. Glencoe never fails to impress and the cloud inversion around Buachaille Etive Mor was stunning.

Glencoe, cloud inversion

On Saturday morning I arrived early at Inverlochlarig and began the long, steep slog up Stob Binnein. At the start of the path were placed two fairly recent memorial stones, a sad and sobering reminder of the dangers of climbing Scottish mountains. These are big hills, rising to over 3,500 ft. They can be dangerous at any time of year but particularly in winter. The north facing corrie of Ben More is a well known avalanche black spot.

On the way up to the first top of Binnein, Stob Coire an Lochain I was caught up by another walker. An English lady from Edinburgh preparing for a Himalayan trek, we ended up walking the whole route together. I was glad of the company. While one of the attractions for me of hill walking is solitude, it’s good to walk with others sometimes as well, particularly on long, physically testing routes. My companion for the day was certainly fitter than me and I was glad of the pace she set. Had I been walking this route alone, I expect it would have taken me at least an hour longer.

For much of the day our conversation focused on the Scottish independence referendum, which was then just days away. I shan’t go into any great detail here but suffice to say I was glad of the result later that week. Before too long we reached the first munro, Stob Binnein. The walk north to Ben More was straightforward but involved a couple of hundred metres of descent and reascent. From the col between Ben More and Stob Binnein we then began an ever greater descent into the valley separating the first pair of munros from Cruach Adrain and Beinn Tulaichean. Blessed with fine weather the navigation across to the next pair of munros was easy enough but the re-ascent was extremely tiring. After gaining the subsidiary top of Stob Garbh I wasn’t sure I’d have the legs to get up Cruach Adrain but I managed it. The fourth munro, Beinn Tulaichean was a much gentler climb and from there it was a fairly quick descent back to the car park.

Cruach Ardrain, 3rd munro of the day

A long and very tiring day with some 2200m of vertical ascent over 18km, I was really pleased with my achievement. Six munros in 2 days and well over 3000m of vertical ascent. Hard weekends like this only serve to increase hill fitness and endurance, while longer routes also provide greater opportunity to test navigation. Later in October in quite different mountain terrain in Japan (the subject of a separate blog post) I could feel real strength in my legs and was able to enjoy a totally different mountain environment from the Highlands without worrying about aches and pains in my legs.

Over the course of 2014 it’s occurred to me that when I first presented at a doctor in 2012 complaining of knee and leg pain when out walking hills, the first thing the doctor should have enquired about was the amount of hill walking I had already done. Questions like, “How many hills have you climbed in the last year?” and “What’s the furthest you’ve walked and greatest elevation gain you’ve done in a single day” would have revealed to the doctor that I was a total novice and that my aches and pains in 2012 and 2013 were simply explained by trying to do too much too soon. But no detailed enquiries were made as to the amount of hill walking I had been doing or was trying to do. Instead, all the enquiries focused around the type of pain I had and what sorts of activities induced it. These led swiftly to MRI scans and probably pointless arthroscopic surgery for a meniscus tear.

My guess is that for many hill walking related aches and pains doctors would do well to enquire in detail about activity levels (distances, height gain etc) and then take a view as to whether the patient was maybe trying to run before they could walk. This year I’ve focused on trying to build up gradually to longer, more demanding routes and to combat the dangers of a sedentary job by increasing the amount of walking I do during the working week. So far, that strategy seems to be paying off. I don’t think my cardio-vascular fitness has changed much, but that’s not my goal. The strength of my legs and my endurance levels are undoubtedly improving with every visit to the mountains. And so, it was with little difficulty at all that I recently ascended the 900m from the beautiful Kamikoche valley in the Japan Alps to the summit of Yake Dake (2455m) an unforgettable experience to which I shall turn in one of my next posts.

Six Months of Real Mountains

Half way through the year and with the Cuillin munros recently completed, it seems like a good time to take stock of my progress in the mountains this year. The big difference compared with 2013 is the frequency with which I’ve managed to get up to Wales and Scotland. Over 12 days since January I have covered a distance of one hundred and fifty eight kilometres, climbed thirteen thousand four hundred and fifty metres in aggregate (roughly one and a half times the height of Everest) and and added twenty one munros and six furths to my tally.

Cuillin, June 2014

My trip to Skye earlier this month (a full account of which is posted to my Walk Highlands page ) undoubtedly marks a high point in my experience of the mountains of Scotland. The exposed scrambles and roped climbs involved in attaining summits such as Sgurr nan Gillean and the Inaccessible Pinnacle will remain firmly etched in my memory forever. Sharing those memories with friends and colleagues recently (e-mailing them links to my Flickr gallery of the Skye trip ) elicited some interesting responses. All admired the photographs, many were stunned by the beauty of the landscape and a few were of course alarmed at the thought of heading into that sort of terrain for fun. The most interesting response came from an Austrian colleague. Whilst admiring the pictures, he suggested that if I wanted to climb a ‘real mountain’ rather than a ‘hill’ (which he observed was almost rivalled in height by a hideous looking Arabian skyscraper called the Burj Khalifa) then I should head to Alps where he would be happy to suggest some via ferrata for me to try.

Inaccessible Pinnacle, June 2014

It was interesting for me to see how the mountains of the UK are sometimes perceived by people who have grown up in the shadow of much higher peaks. I had no hesitation in explaining to him that while the mountains of Scotland pose no danger of altitude sickness they are certainly not be underestimated and should be approached with the respect and caution that any mountain deserves – especially in winter. It’s easy to forget that many munro days (especially on the West coast) start at or near sea level. Routes are frequently pathless and the weather, well…. (I’m sure there’s a German word for ‘dreich’). I pointed out to my Austrian colleague that an ascent of the Grossglockner (Austria’s highest point) begins at a car park that itself is located above the 2000m contour. Thus, the climb to its summit involves around 1900m of ascent. By contrast, a full traverse of the Cuillin ridge involves around 3000m of climbing (about the same as a climb of the Matterhorn from Cervinia). Of course alpine ascents and munro bagging are not to be compared. These are different objectives with high altitude, snow climbs and glacier crossings changing the equation altogether. But it’s easy to see how the relatively low altitude of British mountains can deceive people who are used to loftier ranges.

Bla-Bheinn, June 2014

One thing the alpine climber doesn’t have to contend with is the dreaded midge. During the week in Skye I had my first encounters with Culicoides impunctatus and was extremely glad of my head net. OK, I’ll admit that it’s not a look that’s likely to take off on the catwalk any time soon but it’s a really effective way to keep the little buggers at bay. The onset of midge season also seems to coincide with the mass arrival of tourists in the Highlands. I noticed on the drive to and from Skye many more cars and caravans on the road than I had seen earlier in the year. So, despite my desperation to bag more munros I expect to delay my next visit to the Highlands at least until September when I hope the midges will be biting less, and the roads will be quieter.

4.45 am and 636 miles to home

In the meantime, I will set my sights on Snowdonia. Having enjoyed the scrambles on Skye so much I plan to take on Tryfan and the Glyders later in July. My sense of achievement in upping my munro count (from 3 to 24 in the space of a few months) is sometimes matched by feelings of frustration that the mountains aren’t a little bit nearer. A weekend in Wales means 5 hours in the car each way and a Highland trip (whether arriving by plane or train) is inevitably a wager on the weather of at least £200 in non-refundable fares. That said, being in London has its advantages too. It’s clearly too far to reach Scotland by car in a weekend and the flight options are good. In October a new service to Inverness opens from London City so with any luck, this coming winter will see a couple of weekend expeditions into the Cairngorms.

Since starting this blog in March I have received 350 views from readers as far away as Malaysia and the United States. Whoever you are, thank you for reading. I look forward to sharing more mountain adventures with you in the months to come.

24 down, 258 to go

Incompleatist, 29 June 2014