But she made her own way to the hills.
Ben Lomond has already been ticked off and she’s had a view from the top of Snowdon which is more than I ever did in my first half a dozen visits. Now, having made the trip north to our new home in Scotland she said she was game for a hill.
My son-in-law had pointed to Ben Cruachan when we’d been up hills before and said it was on his list of “to do”s. So three of us were booted and suited last Sunday and away from the last parking spot at the station just after nine.
The route is well described in many reports on the site, so it’s impressions , memories and a few photographs that follow:
the short, sharp shock of a steep and sudden start
- Looking back from the initial slopes above the station
the concrete brutalism of the dam
- Youth and energy streak ahead
the ascent of the ladders and the emphatic “I’m not looking up just for one of your photographs”
- No, I'm not looking up
- South from above the Cruachan Reservoir
the steepening scramble over jumbled rocks and boulders as the top gets nearer
- Youth still leads - but the tortoise keeps on coming
- That's my girl!
my pride at our first “Dad and daughter” summit shot
the hidden dyke of different rock that unlocks the door to the Cruachan slabs
- "There's a way round that?" - see, no confidence in the old man.
the fine relaxing high level walk to Stob Diamh
her own sense of achievement looking back at the ridge and the skyline profile of Ben Cruachan’s final slopes
- "I did that?" - or - "I did that!"
the wry sense of satisfaction while looking at the showers that appeared to sweep along Glencoe and across the Ben in the distance
the midges waiting in ambush at the deer fence on the way down
and despite the weary legs and aching muscles, an understanding that we’d do that again
Thanks
