I was originally going to tackle Ben Rinnes on Saturday 9th July, but based on the forecast I decided on 10th instead.

It was a fine day for any outdoor activity: The sky was clear and the wind minimal. I allowed myself a leisurely breakfast of porridge before setting out just after nine. Upon reaching Ben Rinnes, I found a space on the side of the narrow lane just past the car park, got my gear together and approached the wooden gate at the entrance to the path. There were quite a few cars there; more than I expected.

After passing through the gate, I started walking at a pace and passed a few groups on the initial path. It ramps up immediately and after only five minutes walking I was surprised to see my car looking so small in the miniature valley below. The drop here was quite excessive, though I did venture to the edge and was quite capable of peeking over. The grass and relatively short distance to the ground made it easier to 'accept'. That said, I started wondering whether it was wise to do the climb if I was already a little apprehensive about the steepness. I chose Ben Rinnes because it's so close to where I live, as well as being such a straightforward climb.



The rocky path continued and is satisfyingly wide. After the first few turns, the path is fairly straight until the point at which the mountain rears up. At one point, after cresting the first of Ben Rinnes's humpbacks, I was surprised to see the path descend ever so slightly. This provided a spot of respite for the climb proper. I even took a few swigs of water here and admired the view. I walked along the edge of the path to test my comfort zone and felt quite comfortable at the height and with a very mild, sloping gradient to my left.



At this point, I was feeling somewhat reinvigorated. I looked ahead to the ever-rockier face of another hump and thought, it can't get much worse than this. Shortly, I would be chastising my thoughts...

The comfortable path, flanked by swathes of grass, starts to narrow on the approach to the 'main hump' of Ben Rinnes. Despite this being obvious from afar, I would soon realise the true extent of a 'false summit'. Initially, I fared rather well. Merely seeing the slope of Ben Rinnes to the right was unsettling, as it seems to roll off into nothingness. That said, when I focussed on the path and questioned, 'can I die from falling here?', my resolve was fortified. Reminding myself that if I tripped nothing could possibly happen, other than falling to the stable ground in front of me, was a genuine mental lifeline - one I frequently used during the ascent.



I looked up at the summit and thought I was nearly there; I was quite disappointed because I wanted to face a fear that hadn't yet revealed itself. As I neared this faux summit, I was horrified to see the beginnings of another slope appear from the parapet like something that was growing from the mountain as I walked. It was at this point that I began to sense the fear I'd strangely longed for. The small incline I'd just climbed, fell away from me and presented the optical illusion of it being sheerer than it was. Then, looking up the mountain also made me feel unsteady, as though I was stranded between two locations I neither wanted to ascend nor descend. So, I navigated to the nearest large rock whilst crouching low - in order to gain some semblance of balance and control.



Why a large rock you wonder? Being 6'4 means I'm partial to a little comfort. I needed a place to sit that could, in essence, cradle me. I used this boulder to recline into and it provided me with magnificent views all around. When I looked into the distance at the sea, or the mountain line beyond the Moray Firth, or even the fields below off to the right, my mind found it easy to accept the height. However, when I looked ahead at the lines simulating drops, or the way the land appeared to melt away to my left, my heart rate increased and I felt suddenly giddy, even heavy. What a strange feeling it is to stand when you feel heavier than you actually are. The ground beneath me seemed to want to tether me to itself, which really should have felt reassuring. But, I felt unstable, like my feet were going to lose their grip. Again, 'What will happen if you fall here Ben?'. The answer was a resounding, 'Nothing, you'll graze yourself'.

By now, I was frightened of making a beeline to the summit without looking, in case I reached the top and panicked, so I forced myself to keep looking, keep understanding and contemplating the lie of the land. It was here that I realised something was wrong with how I was perceiving what was around me. After sitting for a while, I stood up, waited until I felt adjusted, whilst performing a powerful wide-legged stance that was surely belying my instability...

Once my unease subsided I pressed on up the stone stairs, which despite their usefulness, imply (to my mind at least) a steeper gradient than if there were no stairs. The summit seemed near and I asked a passer-by with his Golden Retriever how far-off it was. He said 15-20 minutes. No sooner did I start walking, I realised I was reaching another false summit. The actual summit emerged - tipped with its recognisable outcrop - and I weeped a little within myself. I was frustrated at the mountains insistence on my demise but angrily plodded on and began the final ascent to the true summit.



I'd read about these false summits prior, but presumed them to be the characteristic humps of Ben Rinnes's profile, when in reality, they're subtle illusions that give the impression of approaching the top before getting to the top. I noticed a similar effect on the descent: When I approached the edge, it looked like the land was going to give way. Only prior knowledge was enough to know that wasn't the case. As soon as I approached the edge, just before the fathomless drop into nothingness, the land suddenly appeared like a red carpet being laid out.

This final stretch was easier than prior sections because I could no longer see the slope to my right and the height, at least to my eyes, roughly remained the same. Fields got a tiny bit smaller and some distant geologic forms changed slightly. The narrowing path remained easily navigable though and I shortly arrived at the base of the summit.

Upon my arrival, I was surprised to see what could be described as a green field spread out before me like a rich blanket. There was room to manoeuvre and very few people at the top, which contradicted the amount of cars parked below. There were two outcrops visible from the entrance to the flat ground. One to the left was quite small but provided photo opportunities for those willing to partake in strange rituals, such as, climbing and standing atop with arms spread. Looking at them made my knees tremble. The largest outcrop was where the summit stone was located. It could be readily seen and was easily accessible. After climbing this rocky outcrop, which I did easily by positing to myself that the flatness of my surrounds was the psychological equivalent of my floor, I approached the summit stone, all too aware of the potential drop beyond.

I touched the stone to satisfy myself I had completed the climb and slowly stood from my crouched position to peer over the edge. It wasn't a very good experience as I felt the need to crouch down again, so I backed off, retraced my steps and found a rock-face leeward of the winds that occasionally whipped up.



I admired the views and ate my peanut butter and jam sandwiches. The sun was beating down so I decided to close my eyes briefly and soak up the rays, which warmed my body through. After around half an hour of light dozing, milling and moseying around the summit, I headed back down with a strange confidence. As mentioned previously, the path seemed to drop away from the edge of the mountain. The visual trickery is enough to warrant a cautious approach to the edge - is this the place I ascended from? Why, yes it is. As the path unfolded I felt confident to walk down without shifting my weight to one side. Those walking past me were progressing confidently upright without fear.

As I continued the descent, I slipped graciously and caught myself before falling to my hands and knees. A reminder that my new found confidence in descent should not be tested. I wasn't focussing on my feet, merely looking ahead, so happy that the expanse before me was no longer too much. Occasionally, I'd catch a glimpse of a peculiarly situated slope that would cause my mind some confusion. Opposite Ben Rinnes on the descent is another mountain with a rather sheer path up its side. Its angles alone were enough to warp my mind for a second here and there before returning my gaze to path beneath me.

The descent was far more pleasurable and easier than the ascent. Even in large department stores, I'm more than willing to step onto the fourth floor escalator going down, if I'm already on the fourth floor. Whereas, if I'm starting from the ground, I do struggle getting to the top.

Overall, my first mountain experience was fantastic. The weather was sublime and the mountain itself rather fetching. Ben Rinnes is aesthetically pleasing to the eyes - if like me you find jagged peaks uninviting - and the straightforward path up allows you to worry less about footing and more about the experience.

As with everything, it's all in the eye of the beholder.