My friend Kay Young has just completed all of her Munros – a marvellous accomplishment, and one I feel zero need to do myself. Not least living near an entirely different set of mountains 😉 However I know what a big deal it is, and had the joy, back in 2011, of helping my father John, who recently died while out walking in Scotland, celebrate his final Munro.
In wanting to help honour Kay with her recent accomplishment, I dug out this piece of writing my dad, John Pearson, composed shortly after completing all 282 Munros (Munros are Scottish mountains 3000 ft or higher. Remember that in Scotland, many mountains start at sea level!)
The photos are soooo poignant. So many people no longer living. My dad, my two brothers Edward (whose birthday it is today – he would be 57), and James (who would be 62 next week), Julia my daughter, who was just 7 when we did this mountain walk as a large extended family, (and who died by suicide at age 15, a couple of years after Mike died), Mike my husband who would be 62 today were he also still alive. Too many dead people.
Poignant in the extreme.
Read on if you would like to know one man’s story of his Munros. It’s kind of a geeky thing to do!
All photos taken on 17th April 2011 (our daughter Megan’s 10th birthday!)
Edward and Megan
First steps
Clearly a late developer, I didn’t set eyes on a Scottish (or, for that matter, a Lake District) mountain until into my twenties. Even then, a first trip to Scotland, in 1960, produced virtually nothing mountain-wise. We had a go at An Teallach in mist and rain from Dundonnell Hotel, to which we retreated fairly soon having failed to get to the top. Oh, and we did climb Little Wyvis (764 m.), not the Munro Ben Wyvis. Those were the days, by the way, when a pound’s worth of petrol would fill your car’s tank. The vehicle was actually Dave Thewlis’s A 35 van. Ian and John Mellor were there too.
It seems that a seed had nevertheless been sown, and in the remote north-west Highlands at that; for the summers of 1964 and 1965 saw a solid beginning. McMillans, Mellors and Pearsons had a holiday in Glen Shiel in August 1964, some of us at least staying in a fairly primitive caravan at Dornie. On the 10th John and Janet Mellor, Ian and I walked up to the Bealach an Lapain (rabbit’s col) on the north side of the glen and turned left to do the north-west section of the Five Sisters of Kintail. Our very first summit was Sgurr nan Spainteach, the Peak of the Spaniards – a reminder of a small battle fought in the valley below in 1715 during the Old Pretender’s attempt to win the crown back for the Stewarts: some of the Spaniards on his side seem to have fled up this hill.
But that Sgurr isn’t a Munro but only a Top (a 3000 feet or more eminence attached to a Munro proper and listed in Munro’s tables). We didn’t know that at the time, and I think indeed we hadn’t yet heard of Munros (or Tops) at all. In fact our walk that day as far as Sgurr na Moraich covered three Munros and two Tops – not at all a bad beginning. It was a hot day and we got very thirsty and I still remember drinking quantities of nectar-like water when we got down to the first stream.
Over the next few days we climbed Ben Sgritheall, The Saddle, Beinn Fhada/Attow and finally the south Shiel ridge with its seven Munros – a day total which I (like probably the bulk of Munroists?) was never to better. Then we went to Skye for the first time and managed five Munros including Blaven, Sgurr nan Gillean and Sgurr Alasdair. Finally, on our way back home it must have been, Ian and I went up The Saddle again with Hilary (where was ten week old James – parked at Fixby?) and Janet (five months pregnant with Araba).
A start on some of the big stuff
The following year in July McMillans, Thewlises and Pearsons hired a cottage at Annat in Glen Torridon. Our James was there, only 13 months old, and William was due to be born in about six weeks.
Various combinations of us climbed the six Munros on the three giants Liathach, Beinn Eighe and Beinn Alligin, together with the three Munros of the Coulin Forest south of Glen Torridon. In addition, Ian and I rowed across Loch Maree and climbed Slioch, then headed north and picked off Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair, one of the ‘Fisherfield Six’. Ian, but not I, then added Fisherfield’s Ben Tarsuinn. (On Slioch, we went to the trig point, which was then the Munro. But it no longer is, so in 2010 I went up again to the new summit, a short distance north of the trig point and allegedly one metre higher; I wasn’t sure we’d been there the first time, though we must have passed within a few yards of it at worst.)
In 1965 I also recorded myself as having climbed, on my own, Sgurr Choinnich, one of the Munros south of Glen Carron. Can’t remember anything about that, so unsure why I didn’t include Sgurr a‘Chaorachain just a mile away on the far side of a high col. Anyway, my line of ascent from Craig in Glen Carron is marked on the OS map! (It is a matter for regret to both Ian and me that by no means all the subsequent ascents were similarly recorded.)
Snow
The following spring (1966) Ian and I went to the Cairngorms with, among others, John Dempster, a Ministry of Transport friend of mine, and Graham Daniels, a friend of John’s, both of whom subsequently climbed all the Munros – though John now has at least one artificial hip. I seem to remember that we stayed for part of the time at Derry Lodge, which I think is no longer possible. There was snow around – we started on 30 March – but I can’t recall how much; I recall no particular difficulty anyway. We had some longish days, for example a walk taking in Beinn a‘ Bhuird and Beinn Bhreac. We also stayed one night at Corrour Bothy in the Lairig Ghru. And in addition to four of the Cairngorms Munros we also knocked off Lochnagar and five Munros near the head of Glenshee .
Then Ian and I, just the two of us I think, made a quick hop over to Skye and climbed Sgurr nan Eag.
Mike, Julia & Emma
A bit more progress
1967 produced just one Munro – Sgurr Dubh Mor on Skye with Ian. I can’t remember why there was nothing more, either that year or the following; but at that time I had no specific intention of climbing all the Munros. The very idea of doing so was not yet much talked about; in 1967, only 75 people were recorded by the Scottish Mountaineering Club as having done them; and Hamish Brown’s famous first continuous traverse of all the Munros in 1974 was still in the womb of time.
(To anyone actually reading this, Emma would like you to know that 1967 was the year Emma was born – in late March – and therefore, just a little baby during mountain-walking months… Add to that, Mum now had three kids under the age of three. Perhaps that is why there was not much Munro-bagging in 1967?)
Ian and I nevertheless had a final (for the time being) quite productive trip to the Highlands in 1969, when we again went for some serious hills, those around Glencoe. We stayed in a fairly primitive bunkhouse. In addition to the two Buachailles we climbed the Munros of Bidean nam Bian, a major mountain – and were almost benighted coming off it – the only time that happened in all my Munroing. It was quite late in the season – 26 October – and it was more or less dark by the time we hit the road in Glencoe.
I have to report also that we tried and, because of me, failed to traverse the famous Aonach Eagach (notched ridge) on the north side of Glencoe. We started on Am Bodach (the old man), a Top at the inland end of the ridge. There is a steep scramble down as you come off this top and I didn’t feel able to do it. Indeed, I didn’t get round until 2006 to climbing – by easier routes – the two Munros of the Aonach Eagach.
Time Out
Apart from Cairn Gorm in 1977 – on a family occasion on the rest day of the first Scottish Six Days orienteering event – and three minor Munros in 1979 (one of which I did in trainers and ruined them), that was it until 1990. Of course, we had moved to Brussels in 1973, and I still had no idea or intention of completing them all. The number climbed at the end of 1989 was still only 54, less than a fifth of the total; and I was coming up to 52 years old.
1990
I single this year out because of the glorious week Ian and I had in May moving quickly in running kit over some major mountain groups, including, on successive days, the five Munros (one of them, Carn Eighe, twice) and nine tops south of Loch Mullardoch; the four Munros and four Tops to its north; three of the remaining Munros of the Five Sisters group in Glen Shiel; Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan and An Socach from the remote Allt Beithe youth hostel at the head of Glen Affric; and finally, on what was supposed to be a ‘rest day’ – but we found ourselves accelerating as soon as we saw a couple of other walkers ahead of us – Creag Meagaidh down by Loch Laggan and this big mountain’s two other Munros.
We felt fit, and full of the joys of being able to move rapidly over considerable distances in remote highland terrain. However, we may have been fit, but in my case we were not necessarily courageous. On the Five Sisters ridge, in drizzle and mist, with the rock greasy, I duffed at going out perhaps a hundred metres along a narrow side ridge to the summit cairn of Sgurr a’ Bhealaich Dheirg; and had to climb up again and do it – still with Ian – nineteen years later.
Mum and her three boys, my brothers. Thank you James, William and Edward for being with us as long as you could.
Another quiet period, but…
There had definitely been something specially positive about 1990, but, again, it produced no immediate consequences. Not until 1999, when Hilary and I went to the World Orienteering Championships near Inverness, did I clock up another Munro: Ben Wyvis, climbed with Hilary, and two days later the four Munros above Glen Strathfarrar. Then 2001 saw a change. I retired from the European Commission – which had really been occupying the best of my attention, time and effort for nearly 30 years. Ian climbed his final Munro – the Geal Charn near Laggan (one of several Geal Charns) – with a big band of supporters including Hilary and me – again on the rest day of a Scottish Six Days. Then Hilary and I climbed Ben Nevis together, and after a diversion to Orkney, she came with me up Ben Hope in the far north and I went up Ben Klibreck the same afternoon, thus tidily disposing of the two most northerly Munros.
Going for it
2002 was a key year. For the first time since 1969 with the exception of 1990, I did 13 Munros, all with Ian. I then decided in the course of the summer, with 190 of the 283 still to do, to go for the rest as systematically as possible from south to north, with, for the first time, the clear aim of completion. Time might be getting short; I was now 64. The southerly Munros had been neglected by me up to then; and they were relatively easy of access for me, since I could start with a Ryanair flight from Gerona to Glasgow Prestwick. A new chapter thus opened, during which, for the first time, I did many of the Munros alone. This new period started on 17 September with Beinn Narnain, Beinn Ime and Ben Vane near Loch Lomond.
I continued from the south in 2003, starting quite early in the year, on 7 April, with a day on Beinn Buidhe in poorish weather. But when I woke the next morning there was glorious sunshine and I could easily complete the four Munros of the Ben Lui group. That year also included a short trip to Skye, where John Quayle helped me up Sgurr a’ Mhadaidh and Sgurr a’ Ghreadaidh. These involve a bit of scrambling on either side of the An Dorus col; as I walked back down to the car I was so pleased that I was for ever turning round to look at where – incredibly, seen from below – I had just been.
2004 saw a steady 18 Munros completed in the south-north progression, including, with Ian, Ben Cruachan, and also Am Basteir on Skye with the guide Mike Lates. Cedric and I started in 2005 in Skye with Mike again, but this time the weather was so awful that we were unable to attempt any summit and fled to the mainland. Our first Munro there was Ben Challum near Crianlarich. Shortly after leaving the summit, in misty damp conditions, I slipped for some reason on a horizontal path and fell awkwardly. My leg hurt quite a lot but I could stand up and walk gently down, aided by a bit of branch Cedric found for me to lean on. Back at Killin youth hostel I thought I’d better get the leg looked at and asked the warden where the nearest doctor might be found. He laughed and said ‘At 5.20 p.m. on a Friday, probably at Stirling Hospital’ – and probably therefore a good hour away. However, one can ring an NHS number. I did, and was told the leg was probably only bruised. The next day it was still painful but I could walk with some difficulty, and we went up the Munro Meall nan Tarmachan (Ptarmigan Hill). On the Sunday, however, as we stood at the foot of Meall Ghaordie, I felt I couldn’t continue. We drove to Stirling Hospital, where they said it was probably only bruised but they’d better X-ray it. The fibula (the smaller of the shin bones) was broken low down. ‘What treatment?’ ‘None; limp around till it stops hurting’. So that was one Munro climbed with a broken leg. Has anyone else done that?
It did finally stop hurting and Cedric and I finally climbed Meall Ghaordie on 29 August. We then went on to do among others the Ben Lawers group and to make a start on the Munros around Loch Etive, which (including the fine Ben Starav) I cleared off on my own when Cedric had gone home.
Just three days of solitary Munroing around the end of May in 2006, the year in which Ian and I did the Pyrenean Haute Route from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean from 5 July to 16 August. Then 2007, for reasons I can’t remember for the moment, is a complete blank without a single Munro.
Julia, Mike and Ben
Annus mirabilis?
2008, in contrast, saw 58 Munros climbed, easily my record year. It began with a systematic attack on the Munros of section 4 of the guide, 34 of them, of which I’d so far only done Ben Nevis. Cedric and I embarked on 2 May on the Mamores range north of Loch Leven. We did seven of them together over four days and I went up the last three on my own after Cedric had left. One of the joys of those few days was to see for the first time the spectacular upper reaches of Glen Nevis, where the river has to be crossed on a three wire bridge; this got easier the more you did it. Then, over eight more days on my own, I climbed the Aonachs next to Ben Nevis, followed by the four ‘Grey Corries‘ Munros; after that the two ‘Stob Corries’ and the five Munros north and south of Loch Ossian. Three of this last five were reached by taking the train to Corrour Halt, a lonely station far from any road but with quite a good café right beside it. The final two days included Carn Mor Dearg, straight opposite the spectacular north face of Ben Nevis; and the three Munros dominated by Beinn a’ Chlachair (stonemason’s hill), one of which, Creag Pitridh, surely hardly deserves its Munro status.
A further trip in the autumn, in part with Ian, yielded a further 31 Munros in several areas, thus completing all the Munros south of the Great Glen except for Ben Lomond and a final series in the Cairngorms. Ian injured a foot quite early on, so he took to a bike for part of the time and I did more hills on my own than I otherwise would have. Among the finer of the 31 were Sgor Gaoith, standing steeply above Loch Einich; Beinn Dearg north of Blair Atholl; the great plateau of Ben Alder; Beinn a’ Ghlo (hill of the mist, but the day was clear); and, notable for their remoteness, Carn an Fhidleir and An Sgarsoch, approached by a long bike ride from Linn of Dee west of Braemar.
Coming down on 25 September from Carn an t-Sagairt Mor (big hill of the priest) east of the Glenshee road, dropping down to Loch Callater, I saw a rather elegantly dressed walker in a turquoise kilt coming towards me. Prince Charles. We had a talk; we had met before when, as a young civil servant, I had told him about the Channel Tunnel project when, even younger, he was visiting a series of government departments as part of his education. He looked fit and well and I was pleased to see that he was able to get up into the empty hills near Balmoral with no apparent guide, guard or supervision. He said he liked being at Balmoral because he could get more work done there than in London.
Across the Great Glen again
The first job in 2009 was to deal with the seven remaining Munros in the Cairngorms. Cedric and I met in Braemar on 20 June. The next day, using bikes for the first bit, we went up Ben Avon, the most easterly of the Cairngorms Munros, a long walk in lovely open country. Three fine long days later we polished off the last two Cairngorms, Braeriach and Sgor an Lochan Uaine, drove back to Aviemore after a long day out and met Ian, to whom Cedric handed me over to start filling in the gaps still left north of the Great Glen.
After the three Munros north of Glenfinnan we went up to Glen Shiel, where the game had begun in 1964, and settled into Ratagan youth hostel. Days here tended to end with one or more large shandies at the Cluanie Inn. Ian returned home and I climbed the two remaining missing Munros in the area, including the remote Mullach na Dheiragain, which needed a long bike ride in to Iron Lodge, last seen in 1964 in the course of a very long through walk with John Mellor and Ian during which we attempted no Munros: these were then not yet an obsession.
After Glen Shiel I went back south to claim four Munros around Glen Quoich, then hopped even further north, beyond Ullapool, to take in Conival and Ben More Assynt. On Conival, in mist and wind, I watched for several minutes a snow bunting, my first, which stood on a rock and sang to me from no more than three metres away. Finally, I made a start on the Fannichs group. Later, in September, I completed these slowly and arduously in another week of wind, mist and rain.
Our intact family of Seven Pearsons – Laura, James, Dad, Mum, Emma, Edward & William. Three no longer living, and the remaining four have pretty bashed-up hearts.
2010
In spite of very mixed weather, a satisfying year, starting with my first visit to the Island of Mull, combining climbing Ben More with the Arthur Ransome Society AGM in Oban. Then on to Ullapool hostel – a good hostel in a pleasant little town with its excellent Seaforth fish restaurant. From there I climbed the six Munros of the Beinn Dearg group, including, on a beautiful day, beautiful Seana Braigh – supposed to be very remote but not all that in fact. Collected Cedric from Inverness station and we went the easy way up to the two Munros of An Teallach – a really magnificent mountain, perhaps the Munro I admire the most. Cedric and I then did some of the Glen Carron and Glen Dessarry Munros. After Cedric had returned home I added the two final Glen Dessarry ones, including the steep cone of Sgurr na Ciche; it was very wet and misty and I would probably have duffed if I hadn’t met a German chap – Klaus from Bamberg – on the col who was willing to go up with me.
The next trip was with Edward. We had extremely windy weather, went in to Shenavall bothy, attempted Beinn a’ Chlaidheimh but were blown off. But the next day, still in strong wind and mist, we just managed to get up the remote Glen Carron Munros Lurg Mhor and Bidein a’ Choire Sheasgaich, taking bikes in from Attadale right to Loch Calavie below the col between them. Then, in rain and mist again, we did Moruisg together. I had already climbed it in mist but had been to only one of the cairns at either end of the summit ridge. I read later about the other cairn, and that it might be higher, so we plodded up to do them both.
We then had, finally, a wonderful day, in suddenly glorious weather, setting off very early from Kinlochewe hotel and doing Beinn Tarsuinn in the Fisherfield group. A long way, but a good track then path most of the way, glorious views in all directions from the summit, not a soul to be seen…
I had been worrying for years, and making friends’ and family’s life a misery, about whether I should be able to climb the two remaining Munros on Skye, the famous Inaccessible Pinnacle – a ‘moderate’ rock climb – and Sgurr Mhic Choinnich (McKenzie’s Peak). I finally emailed Mike Lates and he arranged for his no. 2 Malcom Airey to take me up there. Malcolm was extremely calm, competent and reassuring. I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it exactly; no, I didn’t, not until I was on the top of the In. Pinn. anyway. I may have been helped a bit by doing a little rock climbing in the previous weeks with Edward’s Canadian friend Bruce Gordon, a tough climber. Incidentally, about ten minutes after being lowered down from the In. Pinn. I was seized with cramp – eased by Malcolm’s Irn Bru – a drink I hadn’t known still existed. Good job it didn’t happen on the Pinn.
Apart from the final Ben Lomond, reserved for Palm Sunday 2011, only seven Munros now remained: the three in Knoydart, the most difficult area of the Highlands to get to since it isn’t linked to the national road system; and the four remaining Fisherfield Munros, best reached from Shenavall bothy.
Ian and I took a boat across from Mallaig to Inverie in Knoydart and did Meall Buidhe on the same day. The following day we did Luinne Bheinn and Larven, a very long hard day. Back to the mainland and a longish drive north. The next morning we walked in to Shenavall and, another longish day, climbed Beinn a’ Chlaidheimh (sword mountain) and Sgurr Ban. As the day went on the wind rose and it was pretty strong the following morning. We decided to have a go at the two remaining Munros A’Mhaighdean (The Maiden) and Ruadh Stac Mor (big red hill). We got quite high but were forced to decide that it was now too windy to continue safely. Back at Shenavall the wind was still very strong and we decided to walk out. Happily, Alastair Wood and Cedric were ready to go in again four weeks later and we duly climbed the two hills – on another very windy day, but it was a great outing, both objectively and because it was the last two except for the last!
Oh, those kids are SO cute! I am glad Megan got to celebrate her 10th birthday at least at some level!
The final one
Britain was in the middle of a long spell of lovely weather in the middle of April 2011. 31 of us, family and friends, got up Ben Lomond on the 17th by the tourist route; several of us then came down by the more interesting Ptarmigan route. Many of us stayed at the Rowardennan Hotel on the lochside at the foot of the mountain and had a very good time there. I have recorded elsewhere exactly who came and I was moved that so many thought it worth while to be there.
Why bother?
This question has always been asked about all kinds of mountaineering. But it can equally well be asked about any human activity once the basic necessities of life have been catered for. For me doing the Munros was a project which suited me well. It was perhaps quixotic to climb most of them from a starting point in the south of France, but that added to the charm, and required perhaps a greater degree of planning and commitment than if, like certainly the bulk of Munroists, I had lived in Scotland.
The Munros suited me from the technical angle too. I am just a fairly strong hill walker; I have never managed to feel happy on anything more than easy scrambling. Few of them require more than that to get to the top by the easiest route; the great majority could be ascended with hands in pockets. At the same time, however, their height and, sometimes, their remoteness, means that in the weather conditions typical of Scotland, even in summer, they cannot be treated casually. Indeed, for me, days in the Munros often brought a delicious mix of joy and apprehension; apprehension relating to route-finding problems, whether the weather would hold, whether the ridge ahead would be too scrambly, whether one might be benighted…This apprehension, such as it was, was partly caused by the fact that for me it was always a question of covering new unknown ground, often alone. It is true that I did almost all of them outside the season of snow and ice; but even in summer they were a sufficient challenge to me.
The pleasures, for their part, are fairly easy to analyse. First of all there is the joy of movement over the hills so long as one is reasonably fit. Then there is the sheer beauty and magnificence of the mountain scenery, the mountains themselves, the lochs, the valleys and, often, the sea and its islands. Those who don’t hill walk don’t really understand, perhaps, that it really is another world up there – beautiful, silent, empty, remote and by no means unchallenging if the walk is long or the weather bad. There is, too, a simple satisfaction to be had from reaching a summit and touching the cairn. Munroing also greatly simplifies life: all that matters is the day’s walk, navigating, watching the weather, pacing oneself, reaching the summits. Such simplification is good for you.
Of course, doing the Munros is an ‘artificial’ project. And some of them are fairly uninteresting, and many Scottish hills lower than 3000 feet are more spectacular, more beautiful or more interesting than many Munros. But one can always climb those as well – not that I personally have any intention of doing so. The Munros have been a big enough project for me and I think no-one would deny that doing all 283 requires at the very least a definite measure of discipline and determination.
I should also make the point however that it is considerably easier to do the Munros now than in the earlier days, when road access was much more difficult, accommodation was sparser, maps and guides less good. There were also far fewer paths on the hills and fewer people than there are now.
It goes without saying that, even if an “easy top”, the view from Ben Lomond is BEAUTIFUL.
A long business?
It has taken me nearly 46 years to complete the Munros – an average of about six a year. The current record for doing all the Munros in a single journey is 39 days, giving an average of over seven Munros a day. Only once did I manage seven, and that was in the easiest possible place for doing so, the south Shiel ridge. My daily average of Munros climbed (on those days on which at least one was summitted) is a mere1.83. On the other hand, the lower the daily total, the greater the climb per Munro, since one more often has to start from and return to the bottom as it were. Hamish Brown said his continuous walk involved a total of 449 000 feet of climb; I imagine mine involved at least 500 000, or about 17 times the height of Everest from sea level.
As mentioned earlier, my 46 years included long fallow periods, partly because the decision to try to complete the lot came quite late. My best year, 2008, at the age of 70, saw 58 Munros; at that rate I would have done them in five years – as I am sure many do.
I do know that my round is not the longest, though. A certain Ian Ogilvie apparently took 66 years! But I wonder idly if it might perhaps have been the most expensive? It involved about 32 separate trips to the Highlands. All but 50 of the 283 Munros were done after we moved abroad to Brussels in 1973, indeed, 202 after we moved on to the south of France in 2011. This meant, in practice, a lot of ferry trips to Britain and even more Ryanair flights, car hires… As for accommodation, as well as a variety of hotels and B&Bs I did stay a lot in youth hostels, partly to economise but partly because they are often good places to stay: full of like-minded people from whom you can learn a lot, they are well equipped with drying rooms and they don’t mind if you arrive muddy and soaked. The only downside is the dormitories, which can be cramped, stuffy and full of people who snore and go to bed late and/or get up very early. I patronised the following hostels and have good memories of them all: Aviemore, Braemar, Crianlarich, Glen Affric (Allt-Beithe), Glen Nevis, Glenbrittle on Skye, Glencoe, Killin, Oban, Pitlochry, Ratagan, Tobermory (Isle of Mull) and Ullapool. Favourites? Braemar, Ratagan, Ullapool.
Judging from the names of listed Munroists, the great majority are British, Scots even; though there are a few names which might be Dutch, German or even Chinese; and I did meet an American who was ticking them off. In any case my claim to the most expensive round is not meant to be serious. I am only thankful that I could do them without worrying about the cost.
And, indeed, among the joys of the round were many an excellent hotel and restaurant. I think with pleasure of, for example, the Kinlochewe Hotel and its excellent kitchen; the Dundonnell Hotel – first patronised in 1960 and most recently half a century later in October 2010 with Alastair Wood and Cedric; the lonely Aultguish Inn; Inchbae Lodge near Ben Wyvis; the Ben Lawers hotel for a very good afternoon tea with Cedric; a good restaurant just a short way down from the Glen Nevis hostel; a farmhouse B&B in Kinloch Hourn; the hotel at Tomdoun a few miles to the east run by a chap called Pearson and serving splendid fish dishes; then, perhaps the best fish restaurant I know, the Seaforth in Ullapool. Braemar, too, has an excellent choice of restaurants. Side by side with all that comfort there were of course some nights spent in simple bunkhouses – most of them perfectly reasonable – and the odd unwardened youth hostel, not to mention the famous Shenavall bothy. The worst night I had for midges was with Ian in the Glenfinnan bunkhouse, a converted railway sleeping car. Generally, in spite of all the talk, midges were not a major problem.
For all these places the nature of the Munroing game is such as to arouse a considerable affection for them as refuges giving a taste of comfort and normality in between the striving for the summits.
Solo or accompanied?
I suspect that quite a lot of people do almost all their Munroing accompanied by a friend or friends. Some people probably disapprove of solo hill walking. It is true that it is slightly more dangerous to be alone since some Munros are so remote that a broken ankle might lead to death by exposure – there may be no mobile phone reception and it might be days before anyone appeared. And it is, in my experience, surprisingly easy to forget to tell someone where you are going; in any case I should have no great confidence in the procedure of filling in a form in a youth hostel, since in a hostel, if you are travelling alone, no one really knows whether you are back or not and I have never heard the enquiry being made.
When alone I tended to take extra care. Overall I did 115 of the 283 alone and 168 accompanied. Around 35 people went with me to at least one Munro (not counting the 30 who were with me on the top of Ben Lomond). Ian McMillan was with me on 117, a major sustained act of companionship, advice and support over 46 years. Cedric Quayle was with me 32 times, including some great days in the Cairngorms and Mamores. And on the day I broke a leg on Ben Challum he kept me company by breaking a finger. John and Janet Mellor came up 15 and 14 respectively, all in 1964 and 1965; no-one else reached double figures but I remember and thank them all; some of them are no longer with us.
Did you really climb them all?
Yes; I am in no doubt that I did. Sometimes, in mist, it was necessary to continue some way along the ridge in order to be sure one had summitted. Today, a GPS could be used to confirm location; but I only used one towards the very end. I suspect that some people do fail to realise that they have not been to the top of one or two specific Munros; an example could be Gulvain, where the south top is right at the edge of the map and might be taken by some as the summit if they don’t possess the next map. Again, on Ben More Assynt there is a cairned eminence on the west ridge not far from the real top. In mist it might be taken for the summit. But I cannot imagine any Munroist deliberately and intentionally making a false claim. The summits are all cairned, with the possible exception of Aonach Beag near Ben Nevis. Where there was any doubt in my mind I climbed the hill again, as in the case of Slioch and Moruisg mentioned earlier.
The Gaelic
Almost all the Munros have Gaelic names. This was an additional attraction for me, though I have never bothered to find out much about the language. But I respect it as the former language of the Highlands and as an example of the Celtic branch of Indo-European languages. It is also a reminder of the pre-Clearance days when many of the glens were well populated. But it does present problems. First, it is by no means easy to pronounce: you have to learn a set of spelling conventions often quite different from those of English. And even then, if you meet someone who knows Gaelic they usually pronounce the hill name quite differently from what you had imagined it might be. Again, many of the names are anglophones’ corruptions of the original Gaelic words and several meanings are obscure. Some meanings offered by the guidebooks seem scarcely credible, for instance Braigh Coire Chruinn-bhalgain is said to mean height of the corrie of round blisters.
Many of the names are very workaday and down to earth, for example Ben More, big mountain; Beinn Dearg, red mountain; Carn Gorm, blue hill. Such names seem relatively less frequent in the Lake District or North Wales; I sometimes wonder if they result from exchanges like this:
– (pointing) What is that mountain called?
-The big mountain?
-Thanks, I’ve noted that.
The full party (minus, I guess, the photographer? Or perhaps we found another walker to take the photo. I no longer remember).
In conclusion
Even though climbing the Munros requires little more than persistent hill-walking, the scale of the operation is such that the whole experience has been one of the most absorbing projects of my life. Not far short of five thousand people are officially recorded by the Scottish Mountaineering Club as having done them, so it is far from a rare exploit; but I am very satisfied to join them.
Written and sent by my dad, John Pearson, on Wednesday, 18th May 2011.
Mum and Dad – mountain walking partners, partners in love, loss and life, creators of a family of five children, and so much more. Thank you for your great work. I love that you are my parents.
