'A large percentage of seeming incapables reach the top of Ben Nevis'. So remarked a certain William T Kilgour, who worked in the Observatory on Ben Nevis's summit in the late 19th century. William T's views on female climbers were especially disparaging. 'The fair sex must do their own sweet will on Ben Nevis' he declared, 'Along with the broken-winded and the rheumatic'. Hmm....what would William T have made of our little trio of Ben Nevis hikers, combined age of 190 years, infiltrated by the fair sex and each of us latent broken-winded rheumatics. It's a dead cert that he'd have ranked us as incapables.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. My story begins on a grey September morning, the day after my brother Clive's 60th birthday. Six months previously, Clive had agreed to celebrate the start of his seventieth decade by trekking up Ben Nevis with my husband Andrew and me. And so it was that the three of us arrived bright and early at Ben Nevis Inn, renowned Ben base camp, where we had been instructed to rendezvous with our guide Eve - a member of the fair sex who, as we would later discover, possessed extraordinary reserves of resilience, tenacity and diplomacy. The plan was to ascend Ben Nevis via the Mountain Track, also known as the Tourist Path. 'Don't be fooled by the name' said Eve, with a small glint in her eye, 'It's going to be a tough and strenuous walk.' Andrew gripped his walking poles. I straightened my beanie. Clive chewed hard on his gum. And thus began our quest to conquer Ben Nevis.
The first stage of our trek was a relatively gentle one. The weather was dry and calm. The views were glorious. Our legs were full of spring. Our spirits were high. My big toe felt recovered from the evil wasp attack. Life was good. We soaked up Eve's impressive knowledge on The Ben's history and geology.
We reached a section of the path where a helicopter was hovering overhead. Its task was to deposit huge containers of boulders for the purposes of building a smart new track. We all noticed with some trepidation how the containers were partially blocking the current pathway. 'That won't be much fun to negotiate when we come back down' said Andrew, ever the pragmatist. 'Oh it'll be fine' said I, ever the optimist. Clive chewed harder on his gum.
We eased our way cautiously past the helicopter delivery section and soon found ourselves moseying along a very nice flat path. Clive confessed to feeling a wave of relief. 'That was tough going' he said. 'How much further is it to the top?' A shadow briefly crossed Eve's face. 'Er, we're not halfway yet Clive' she ventured cautiously. 'And it's going to get tougher' she added for good measure. Half an hour later we reached the Red Burn, which is indeed the halfway point - hurrah! Time to replenish our water bottles with some authentic Highland H2O.
Whilst we paused for breath and chomped on indigestible breakfast bars, Eve prepared us for the next section, known as the zig zags - eight stretches of steep and stony track of varying lengths. We set off again. The weather started to close in. It rained. It hailed. It blew gusty gusts of wind. It may have even sleeted. It was certainly getting more chilly. In some weird way, it all felt rather exhilarating, whilst simultaneously deeply unpleasant. We kept climbing steadily upwards. One. Step. At. A. Time.
After 90 minutes or so, Andrew and I finally reached the end of the zig zag section. But dear oh dear, where was Clive? Eventually we spotted a familiar tall figure emerging slowly from the mist. I'm not going to lie, dear reader, Clive didn't look too chipper. 'I don't know if I can do this any longer' he gasped. 'You need to eat something' said Eve. 'I don't feel like eating' retorted Clive. A polite stand-off ensued. I'm afraid I wasn't having it. Big sister waded in. Two pieces of Yorkie bar later (I didn't quite resort to force-feeding tactics, promise), Clive was back on track - just. True grit had prevailed.
Within thirty minutes, we were at the summit. We found ourselves enveloped in a thick layer of low-lying cloud. All around us fellow walkers were emerging and disappearing into the mist, like shell-shocked nuclear bomb survivors. We picked our way gingerly across the crunchy uneven shale. In front of us were the ruins of a one-bedroomed hotel and William T's Observatory. It was a very spooky and surreal scene.
Eve led us to the summit monument and we climbed up a small flight of steps to its top. We took the obligatory selfie and checked our watches. The ascent had taken us 4 hours and 15 mins - not bad going for incapables.
All of a sudden......whoosh.....the breeze picked up, the clouds rolled away, the mist cleared, and for a precious 90 seconds or so, Ben Nevis deigned to reveal its stunning views to us. Knowing, as we did, that the summit shrouds itself in cloud for 355 days of the year, we felt truly privileged to have witnessed this, and we instantly forgot about the fact that we were damp, frozen, stiff-fingered and tired-legged.
And so to the descent. Eve warned us that the going down would be every bit as challenging as the going up, indeed it was likely to be more difficult. She wasn't kidding. I'm not going to bore you with too much detaiI. But I think it's fair to say that the terms rheumatic and broken-winded became increasingly meaningful as the hours passed. The zig zags were very hard going, but the most tricky section - as Andrew had accurately predicted - was the helicopter zone. The track was steep, slippery, uneven and narrow-ledged, and worse still, we were expected to leg it quickly down the track between 'copter drops, which were at 2 minute intervals. Clive had a couple of nasty moments. Thank goodness for Eve.
One other apparent cruelty was inflicted upon that beloved younger brother of mine. Every time he caught up with his speedier companions, they had the audacity to simply whizz off again, leaving him no time to recover. Although......when Clive and I compared notes 3 days later, it turns out that he had far less leg stiffness than Andrew and me, which leads us to conclude that it doesn't pay to do the stop/start method of descent.
On the pluser than plus side, the weather improved as we descended, and we were treated to some wonderful scenery (Eve took the photos below - perfect screensavers both).
Finally, after five gruelling stretched-out hours on the descent, we arrived back at The Ben Nevis Inn, looking rather less bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than 9 and a bit hours previously. My legs felt like stiff jelly and my hair had turned to stiff jelly, but there was nothing stiff jelly-like about my sense of achievement. Andrew was delighted that his 'poli poli' approach, honed on the slopes of Kilimanjaro last year, had borne results again. And Clive? 'That was the most difficult thing I've done in my entire life' he announced somewhat darkly, a minute or two after the photo below was taken. Eve wondered whether he'd ever talk to us again. But Andrew and I had a sneaking suspicion that after a few pints, he would feel more mellow. And guess what? We were right. Scafell Pike beckons. Maybe think about doing a bit more training first bro?
I can't begin to say how grateful we are to the fantastic Eve at Abacus Mountain Guides for leading us up and down majestic Ben Nevis. Without Eve, I'm quite sure we would never have reached the summit. She made the whole experience totally safe, hugely satisfying and a lot of fun too. I'd like to think she doesn't consider us to be a trio of incapables. And I feel quietly confident that William T Kilgour would be very impressed by Eve's mountain guide skills, fair sex or not.
I woke up the following morning feeling stiffer than a stiff board in Stiffkey. 'Never mind' I thought smugly to myself, 'I don't have a mountain to climb today.' And then I remembered that I had 16 miles and 16 bridges to cross in just three days' time. Whoops. Did I make it to the Putney Bridge start line? Now that would be telling. I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for the next installment....
But I'm getting ahead of myself. My story begins on a grey September morning, the day after my brother Clive's 60th birthday. Six months previously, Clive had agreed to celebrate the start of his seventieth decade by trekking up Ben Nevis with my husband Andrew and me. And so it was that the three of us arrived bright and early at Ben Nevis Inn, renowned Ben base camp, where we had been instructed to rendezvous with our guide Eve - a member of the fair sex who, as we would later discover, possessed extraordinary reserves of resilience, tenacity and diplomacy. The plan was to ascend Ben Nevis via the Mountain Track, also known as the Tourist Path. 'Don't be fooled by the name' said Eve, with a small glint in her eye, 'It's going to be a tough and strenuous walk.' Andrew gripped his walking poles. I straightened my beanie. Clive chewed hard on his gum. And thus began our quest to conquer Ben Nevis.
The first stage of our trek was a relatively gentle one. The weather was dry and calm. The views were glorious. Our legs were full of spring. Our spirits were high. My big toe felt recovered from the evil wasp attack. Life was good. We soaked up Eve's impressive knowledge on The Ben's history and geology.
We reached a section of the path where a helicopter was hovering overhead. Its task was to deposit huge containers of boulders for the purposes of building a smart new track. We all noticed with some trepidation how the containers were partially blocking the current pathway. 'That won't be much fun to negotiate when we come back down' said Andrew, ever the pragmatist. 'Oh it'll be fine' said I, ever the optimist. Clive chewed harder on his gum.
We eased our way cautiously past the helicopter delivery section and soon found ourselves moseying along a very nice flat path. Clive confessed to feeling a wave of relief. 'That was tough going' he said. 'How much further is it to the top?' A shadow briefly crossed Eve's face. 'Er, we're not halfway yet Clive' she ventured cautiously. 'And it's going to get tougher' she added for good measure. Half an hour later we reached the Red Burn, which is indeed the halfway point - hurrah! Time to replenish our water bottles with some authentic Highland H2O.
Whilst we paused for breath and chomped on indigestible breakfast bars, Eve prepared us for the next section, known as the zig zags - eight stretches of steep and stony track of varying lengths. We set off again. The weather started to close in. It rained. It hailed. It blew gusty gusts of wind. It may have even sleeted. It was certainly getting more chilly. In some weird way, it all felt rather exhilarating, whilst simultaneously deeply unpleasant. We kept climbing steadily upwards. One. Step. At. A. Time.
After 90 minutes or so, Andrew and I finally reached the end of the zig zag section. But dear oh dear, where was Clive? Eventually we spotted a familiar tall figure emerging slowly from the mist. I'm not going to lie, dear reader, Clive didn't look too chipper. 'I don't know if I can do this any longer' he gasped. 'You need to eat something' said Eve. 'I don't feel like eating' retorted Clive. A polite stand-off ensued. I'm afraid I wasn't having it. Big sister waded in. Two pieces of Yorkie bar later (I didn't quite resort to force-feeding tactics, promise), Clive was back on track - just. True grit had prevailed.
Within thirty minutes, we were at the summit. We found ourselves enveloped in a thick layer of low-lying cloud. All around us fellow walkers were emerging and disappearing into the mist, like shell-shocked nuclear bomb survivors. We picked our way gingerly across the crunchy uneven shale. In front of us were the ruins of a one-bedroomed hotel and William T's Observatory. It was a very spooky and surreal scene.
Eve led us to the summit monument and we climbed up a small flight of steps to its top. We took the obligatory selfie and checked our watches. The ascent had taken us 4 hours and 15 mins - not bad going for incapables.
All of a sudden......whoosh.....the breeze picked up, the clouds rolled away, the mist cleared, and for a precious 90 seconds or so, Ben Nevis deigned to reveal its stunning views to us. Knowing, as we did, that the summit shrouds itself in cloud for 355 days of the year, we felt truly privileged to have witnessed this, and we instantly forgot about the fact that we were damp, frozen, stiff-fingered and tired-legged.
And so to the descent. Eve warned us that the going down would be every bit as challenging as the going up, indeed it was likely to be more difficult. She wasn't kidding. I'm not going to bore you with too much detaiI. But I think it's fair to say that the terms rheumatic and broken-winded became increasingly meaningful as the hours passed. The zig zags were very hard going, but the most tricky section - as Andrew had accurately predicted - was the helicopter zone. The track was steep, slippery, uneven and narrow-ledged, and worse still, we were expected to leg it quickly down the track between 'copter drops, which were at 2 minute intervals. Clive had a couple of nasty moments. Thank goodness for Eve.
One other apparent cruelty was inflicted upon that beloved younger brother of mine. Every time he caught up with his speedier companions, they had the audacity to simply whizz off again, leaving him no time to recover. Although......when Clive and I compared notes 3 days later, it turns out that he had far less leg stiffness than Andrew and me, which leads us to conclude that it doesn't pay to do the stop/start method of descent.
On the pluser than plus side, the weather improved as we descended, and we were treated to some wonderful scenery (Eve took the photos below - perfect screensavers both).
Finally, after five gruelling stretched-out hours on the descent, we arrived back at The Ben Nevis Inn, looking rather less bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than 9 and a bit hours previously. My legs felt like stiff jelly and my hair had turned to stiff jelly, but there was nothing stiff jelly-like about my sense of achievement. Andrew was delighted that his 'poli poli' approach, honed on the slopes of Kilimanjaro last year, had borne results again. And Clive? 'That was the most difficult thing I've done in my entire life' he announced somewhat darkly, a minute or two after the photo below was taken. Eve wondered whether he'd ever talk to us again. But Andrew and I had a sneaking suspicion that after a few pints, he would feel more mellow. And guess what? We were right. Scafell Pike beckons. Maybe think about doing a bit more training first bro?
I can't begin to say how grateful we are to the fantastic Eve at Abacus Mountain Guides for leading us up and down majestic Ben Nevis. Without Eve, I'm quite sure we would never have reached the summit. She made the whole experience totally safe, hugely satisfying and a lot of fun too. I'd like to think she doesn't consider us to be a trio of incapables. And I feel quietly confident that William T Kilgour would be very impressed by Eve's mountain guide skills, fair sex or not.
I woke up the following morning feeling stiffer than a stiff board in Stiffkey. 'Never mind' I thought smugly to myself, 'I don't have a mountain to climb today.' And then I remembered that I had 16 miles and 16 bridges to cross in just three days' time. Whoops. Did I make it to the Putney Bridge start line? Now that would be telling. I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for the next installment....
