Bennachie, Ben Nevis, and a nasty fall.

[roykemp]

Wow. I knew it was a while since my previous climb and report. I didn’t think it was as far back as May 2021. That’s, like, a long time ago. Thankfully, I’m in the closing stages of finishing my daft lockdown project which was going back to university, and this should be the last year where study stops play. I’m sure other things will do their best, but as of November the books go on the shelf forever.

With work taking me about a bit and my determination to drag my kids out of the house and into a tent every now and again, I do tend to keep a wee eye out for the opportunity to bounce up and down a hill if I can fit it in. As you can tell from my inactivity, this approach only yields so much success. Thankfully, however, the wife did see fit to book us a camping break at Glen Nevis just outside Fort William, so I figured there was possibly an opportunity beckoning to break the dead streak.

Now, I’ve been doing a wee bit of fitness stuff, on and off, including getting to the point where I could run 5k, in preparation for Beast Race – a local 10k + obstacles type thing. Doesn’t sounds like that makes a lot of sense, but I reckon it’s not bad preparation for something where you get breaks from running to queue for and negotiate obstacles. So I’m not quite as much of a balloon as I was when I started this Munro bagging nonsense, but hardly a mountain goat, either. So I figured a wee tune-up hill wouldn’t be too bad an idea.

So, Fathers’ Day 2023. Oh, yeah, forgot to say, this report is itself well overdue. Like, a year overdue. Busy busy busy.

Anyway, my dads’ day treat last year was to haul the wife and kids up the Oxen Craig route of Bennachie. Let’s just say that I had fun in spite of everyone else. To be fair, the girl is a bit of a nut and loves a challenge. Despite having a massive blister before we even got to the top of Little Oxen Craig, she powered through it and stuck to the task. Even the wife was ok with the sudden and unprecedented demands on her levels of physical effort. The boy, on the other hand, not so much. He’s a bit of a sensitive, emotional soul. If anyone has ever climbed this route, you’ll be familiar with the words “false” and “summits”. I think there’s about three points where you’d swear you’re there, only for a new horizon to reveal itself and snatch away all of your hopes and dreams. Poor little guy, he really had a rough time that day.

Not a happy chappy.

Oh, forgot to say, our last holiday back to Australia we visited a reptile park. As well as all the exhibits, there’s loads of native lizards just running about the place. Let’s just say that he wasn’t absolutely terrified of lizards at the start of the day, but by the end of the day… you get the gist.

Anyway, we finally get to the top of Oxen Craig and he’s beyond the point of having had enough, is overwhelmed by the wind noise at the top, and find himself a little quiet hole behind a rock to bury himself into so he can have his lunch in relative peace.

Then, while the girl and I take selfies at the trig point, a blood-curdling scream.

“LIIIIIZAAAAAAARRRRRRRDDDD!!!”

(He actually opened his statement with an f-bomb, but I can’t write that on here).

I naturally expect it to be a vaguely lizard-shaped leaf or stick, such is the boy’s love for drama. At worst, it’s a newt or something else so tiny you could kill it with a good sneeze. Nope. Biggest damned lizard I’ve ever seen in the UK, which must look even bigger if you’re six and find it unexpectedly in your lunch cave.

Note the boy in his lunch cave, prior to lizard

So, we finally descend with the girl limping from her blister and the boy cursing me every step of the way, about how he has sore legs and I knew this walk would give him sore legs and its all my fault, and how a dinosaur tried to kill him. Oh, and happy Father’s Day, dad, hope you had a good one.

Note to self, at this point - Ben Nevis will be a solo effort.

Anyway, the next week-and-a-bit flies by and instead of preparing properly, I just-about remember to fling my boots and hiking pack into the back of the truck on top of tent and all the booze you need to survive a camping trip with kids.

If you’ve ever stayed at Glen Nevis, you’re surrounded by impressive hills, and you’ll surely find someone who will swear blind that each of them is itself Ben Nevis. However, in truth, you cannot actually see the peak of Ben Nevis from the campsite. You can see some of the barren grey peaks of the Nevis range, however, and they all look mighty impressive when you’re sitting in a foldaway chair with a beer in hand. And, for obvious reasons, you know Ben Nevis is higher than those.

Prettiest campsite in Scotland?

So, as I’m there with wife and kids, I don’t want to lose an entire day with them, so I plan to get up super-early, get myself up the tourist path to the peak, and along the ridge walk to Càrn Mòr Dearg. Might as well nail the other Munro while I’m here, as I’ve no idea when I’ll be back. That’s the plan, anyway. I go with enough food and water for a good long old day up there.
The first part, getting up and out of my sleeping bag, getting suited and booted and making a flask of tea goes well, and I’m over the bridge at the hostel by 05:30. Absolutely no other people up and about at all. Perfect. I exchange small talk with a few sheeps on the steps up to the visitor centre path, which I don’t mind.

Baa? Baa.

I shed a few layers. While the day started cool enough for baselayer, t shirt and waterproof jacket, I’m soon at the point where the baselayer on its own is more than enough, as it’s apparent it’s going to be a cracker of a day. Up and past Lochan Meall an t-Suidhe and I’m regretting the decision not to jump in for a quick dip in the passing, as it’s roasting now. Some guy with two dogs in tow comes running past me. There’s always one. I look back into the glen and can only-just see the campsite where my wife and kids are still snoozing.

Tunnock's time.

I’m into the switchbacks and I meet him again coming back down the other way. I also meet and have a blether with a bloke who’s up here on his 70th birthday and Ben Nevis has been his bucket list item for years. He is taller and has hiking poles and is soon off into the distance. Good on him. He was actually alright for one of those bipedal, ape-descended types. And that was it, only two humans, two dogs and a few sheeps to engage with on the way up. Pretty good for the tourist path, from what I’ve read.

There’s a light cloud cover as I approach the top, and between the grey rock and the grey sky, the scene is almost lunar, so I snap a few photos.

Moonscape

I meander up the last path to the summit, going up to the cliff edge of the North Face, just for a wee look. Eek, no bloody thankyou, not today.

A long way down.

I’m at the summit by 08:30 and snap some selfies and photos of the bits and bobs surrounding. I sit and watch as the mist filling a glen in the distance starts to flow over the side like a waterfall. Pretty cool. There’s a wee layer of cloud not far away slightly below the level of the summit, and as the wind’s blowing in the right direction to bring over, I have my hopes up for my first proper cloud inversion. I decide to have a very early lunch as an excuse to hang about a bit, but it just doesn’t happen.

A cloud almost-inversion.

Hardest part of finding somewhere good to sit and eat up there? Finding a spot that doesn’t reek of human jobbies. True fact.

Not a lizard to be seen, though.

I smash through sandwiches, chocolate and tea. Something’s not right with the tea, though, but I’ve drank about half the flask before I seem to notice. Altitude definitely does something to the taste buds. I don’t think it’s the milk, as we only bought it yesterday at the campsite and it’s been in an electric coolbox since. If anything, I think I’ve washed the flask and failed to rinse all the Fairy bubbles out before adding tea. Regardless, I am somewhat concerned of the possibility of a dodgy tummy and having to add to the pungent nature of the air up here. I tip the tea out, pack up and get moving.

I didn’t really put much preparation into how to get onto the CMD Arête before setting off, as I figured it would be fairly obvious from the summit. I mean, I can see the ridge and CMD itself from where I am, but I cannot find the path for the life of me. I decide to scramble down the far side to see if I can intercept the path somewhere. I stop for a quick slug of water and this makes my stomach complain. Not so good.

I reassess. The fact I’m scrambling off piste isn’t terrific, it’s now a hot morning, and the prospect of a spew or a squirt cannot be completely discounted. I’ve got enough water for the whole walk, but not if I can’t keep it down. I scramble back up the way I came and make to head back down the tourist path. Make all the chicken noises you like, but Scottish mountain folklore is littered with tales of folk who didn’t chicken out when they should have. Plus, there’s a comfy chair, hot food and cold beer waiting for me at the bottom.

Unfortunately, the tourist path is now aptly named. And, as is common with all of my other Munro adventures, it doesn’t take long for my knees to start playing silly buggers on the descent. I just about manage a grimaced “hello” to most of the folk ascending.

A fella on his way up says to me “far to go?”. No bother, I have my map in the map bag still dangling around my neck, so I point out exactly where we are on the path. He pulls out a fancy GPS and tells me that he knows exactly where he is, which reminds me why I prefer to walk in the company of anything other than other humans. I can’t even remember responding, I think I just decided that guy was zero use to me alive and I could either kill him on the spot, or just park him firmly in the rear-view mirror. I can’t remember any screaming, so I must have gone with option 2.

Probably a good thing that I didn’t meet him early-doors when there were no witnesses with fewer than four legs.

The further I descend, the more my knees creak, and the busier it gets. People coming up are probably walking faster than me at this point. Then my phone beeps, and it’s the wife. She’s booked tickets for the Seal Island boat tour at 1pm and could I get back well before then so we can have lunch first. Ah well, screw the knees, best get a move on.

I’m well past the Lochan on the way back and another human being stops me to enquire where we are. Older lady, properly kitted and with poles, but dripping with sweat and breathing heavily. She had started at the vistors centre, and is well and truly spent already. I give her the facts as per the map, and her reaction seems to suggest she thought she was near the top, poor thing. I didn’t feel qualified to give her any advice on what she should do going forward, but I can’t imagine her nostrils sampled the great turd scent of a successful ascent that day.

I’m pretty knackered myself by this point, and am not taking on too much water as every time I do, I feel like I’m going to hurl. I figure I’ve drank enough water, tea and detergent on the way up that I’m not going to die of dehydration before I get to the bottom.

Which I do, eventually, just after noon. I sit on the verge by the hostel while the wife comes to collect me, and by the time she arrives, I can’t really walk. Memories of my first Munro where I could only crawl for a few days after coming off Lochnagar, and as I also gave myself a dodgy stomach, failed to make it to the bathroom on one occasion. I’m hoping for anything other than a repeat of this.

Thankfully it doesn’t work out like that, and while the day had its challenges, the big one is in the bag in a timescale that crucially meets with wife’s plans. Job done.

Oh, yeah. The nasty fall.

I have lunch, and strangely for me, I sensibly don’t have a pint as I’m still feeling ropey. I then manage to hobble onto the boat for the seal island tour, and am grateful of a seat and a cool breeze. We pass Ben Nevis and there, very clearly, is the path down to CMD. I can see it clearly now from miles away, but couldn’t see it when it was virtually there. Annoying, but probably a good thing in hindsight.

CMD path clearly visible. Thumb and some bloke's head included as this was a low-effort photo.

My wife goes to the little bar on the boat and buys me three Black Isle Brewery beers. She knows I like their stuff in general, but didn’t know which one to get, so just got one of each. My god, I love this woman, and as far as I’m concerned if you don’t marry an Australian woman then you’re mad.

All three go down very well indeed, and stay down.

However, on conclusion of the voyage (where we saw one whole solitary seal on seal rock), from the combination of wear-and-tear, dehydration and sudden intake of beer, my legs can no longer be depended on. I’m fine getting up out of my chair and down the gangway, as there’s stuff to hold onto.

I come off the end of the gangway where the handrails terminate, and I just fold like a damp flan. Literally upright to splat on the pier in a millisecond flat. One of those ones where you break your fall with your face.

Wife turns around, looks at me lying there and asks me what I’m doing.

[Dunni]

That is one entertaining report of an already often as dull described tourist path! Well done!
The lead on to the CMD is actually a really good network of paths.
Sorry to hear about your fall - but what a day!

[Colin1951]

Very entertaining read! It’s always good to read about the decision making process for retreat and yours was no exception. Don’t know what you’ve seen from the boat cos the upper part of the Ben from CMD is a big coarse boulder field and there’s no discernible path. I’ve only once descended from the summit towards CMD and I recall doing it with great care until the point where you’re off the convex summit slope and you can actually see the arête.
And I’m sure one consolation of your fall is that with three beers up you wouldn’t really feel it….😳