walkhighlands

Compleat at last on An Teallach. 5Ws an H (and a bit of C)

Route: An Teallach, Dundonnell

Munros: Bidein a' Ghlas Thuill (An Teallach)

Date walked: 14/08/2022

Time taken: 7 hours

Distance: 12km

Ascent: 1120m

Spoiler Alert!

How do I start a story which is about a finish? How do I tell a tale which, whilst unique, is only special to one person, me? How do I write a report about one mountain when the route to that mountain has taken me, very circuitously, over 281 others on the path to its summit?

The best way to start is probably, as I already have, by asking some questions.

Who? What? Where? When? and Why? with a smattering of How? thrown in for good measure. The C was not planned or wanted, nor a question, but hopefully sorted.

I will try to answer these questions, in no particular order and more than likely with only a modicum of success.

My story is unique. That is not to say it is any better, or for that matter any worse, than that of anyone else who has compleated the Munros, or is attempting to do so. It will, however, be different, as is everyone’s story.

I am not the fastest, youngest, tallest, oldest, slowest or fattest to have compleated, although probably closer to the last three than the first three. I have not compleated the Munros by running, skipping, without using motorised transport, continuously, in alphabetical or height order, climbing each one individually starting from sea level, on a unicycle, or even wearing a dinosaur costume.

I have, however, compleated the Munros. All of them. That is quite an achievement, even though I say so myself. It is quite possible, indeed most probable, that no one else has ever done them in exactly the same order, or by exactly the same routes or over exactly the same time scale as I have, but that is not why my story is unique.

The answer to most of the above questions is not what makes each journey unique. It is the answer to ‘why?’ which does. There are as many answers to that question as there are compleatists.

To start with one of the easier questions; ‘Who?’: My name, as some of the observant of you may have worked out from my username, is Keith. I am not in any way special, nor do I have any special abilities or superpowers, (although I would like to think that I have a special place in the hearts of at least some of my family and close friends). I am on the wrong side of 60, or perhaps that should be the right side of 60 as experience and wisdom take over from youthful exuberance and fitness.

I live, and have done so, for a large proportion of my life on the west side of Sheffield adjacent to the Peak District which has, along with other local areas in Yorkshire and Derbyshire, influenced my love of walking from a very early age and the rest of the time I live in Laide.

I spent nearly a decade as a driving instructor and then almost a quarter of a century as a Police Officer, retiring seven years ago. That sums up the majority of my working life in a single sentence!

I have had a close affiliation with the north of Scotland, especially the North West Highlands for well over 40 years. I have holidayed in the area, got engaged to Jane on the Isle of Ewe (say it aloud) 37 years ago *, honeymooned around Loch Ewe a couple of years after that and then, just over twenty years ago, built a house in Laide where I spend as much time as family and other commitments permit. The area is therefore very close to my heart.

The questions ‘What?’ and ‘Where?’ can be put together and are the easiest to answer, especially on this site. I think I am safe to assume that the majority of the readers here know that the Munros are the 282 mountains in Scotland which are over 3000ft (914 and a bit metres) high and that some people make the strange choice to try to climb them all, or compleat, (deliberately using the archaic spelling which has become the tradition), so I will not insult anyone’s intelligence or question their knowledge by going into any more detail as to what they are, or where.

‘When?’ is also fairly easily answered. My first was Ben Nevis on 1st June 1981 and my last Bidein a’Ghlas Thuill, on 14th August 2022, a mere 15050 days later. The rest were spread out in a fairly random manner over the intervening period and the actual dates would be of no interest to anyone other than me, and to be quite honest, even I am not that bothered about such specifics.

That just leaves ‘Why?’ and ’How?’ which pertain to the time between those two dates and they are the most difficult to explain.

In order to try to answer those questions I would like to share my journey with you. Don’t worry, this will not be a step by step account of every Munro I have ever climbed, your interest would soon wane if I tried that. I will try to stick to high points (pun slightly intended) and maybe a few lows, but essentially I will aim to keep to relevance and hopefully some interest, I will let you be the judge of how much interest I achieve.

Some of you have played a part in this journey. I have climbed a number of Munros with different members of the Walkhighlands community, met some at meets, and been in contact with others, sharing information, advice, stories, experiences and hopefully a certain amount of humour. I have been able to show hospitality to some in Laide, which is always a pleasure to me. Those who know me know how I feel about the area and how proud I am of my little part of it, and, in the immortal words of Lucas, it is a ‘not shite view’ (in joke, sorry).

I am delighted, and quite proud, that my two sons have also been involved in my journey to an extent. My eldest has climbed nearly forty Munros and my youngest has reached the half century. They have sometimes joined me together, sometimes just one, and my youngest has claimed quite a number of ticks on his own. Their involvement was mainly from the age of seven until their late teens at which time other interests (predominantly of the female variety) quite understandably, took priority. Even my wife and daughter have managed a Corbett, above Loch Morlich, although I feel their shared interests are more geared towards ticking off as many charity shops visited between them as they can, and they are very good at that. Jane has shared my journey from a more supportive role, on occasion from base camps or just putting up with me drooling over maps and planning routes at home, or just allowing me to wander off, in the true sense of the word.

I was especially thrilled when recently I was allowed to join my grandson, Jim, when he went with his Dad, our son Elliot, to climb his first Munro, Ben Nevis, at the age of six. Jim had been determined to beat his dad who’s first Munro was at the age of seven, and he was successful in doing so. A very moving experience for me. I realised that I had first climbed Ben Nevis forty years earlier, then twenty years later with Elliot and then twenty years after that with Elliot and Jim. I shall have to keep my boots ready for twenty years on from now, who knows, anything is possible.

Well over half of my Munros I have climbed alone, sometimes meeting and enjoying the company of strangers I may see in the hills for part of the walk, sometimes having entire days when I see no one. All the days are different. All the days are special.

I have had no particular plan. I have inadvertently left unclimbed hills in areas to which I have had to return, sometimes having to repeat previously climbed hills in order to do so. I do not class that as a negative. Undoubtedly I could have compleated quicker or with less effort. That has never been the aim.

I have shared some of my walks through walk reports, some with the assistance of my dearly departed companion, Bear *. There are far better photographers on this site than I, and I would not try to compete with them so my reports do not generally contain many pictures. I prefer to use words to convey my experiences. There are many good guide books, and route information can be gained by other means, such as on sites like this so I tend not to duplicate that. I try to approach reports from a slightly different angle, such as letting Bear write them. How successful this has been I will also let you judge. I have not put links in this report but you can always find them if you want. I have marked them with an asterisk *

If I were to say that I climbed my first Munro by accident I would understand a certain amount of scepticism or at least criticism of my navigational abilities. To explain, It wasn’t a case of heading for Tescos and taking a wrong turn. I was aiming for the highest point in the United Kingdom, not the cheese counter at the back of the store, and was successful in getting there. I have also successfully found the Tesco cheese counter but that is a different story. I did not however know that it was a Munro (Ben Nevis, not the cheese counter). I didn’t know what a Munro was. I had never heard of the Munros. My journey therefore began before I even knew I was on one, let alone where it would end. I did however, in a perverse sort of way enjoy the climb up the tourist route into the cloud, just ‘because it was there’, as, it would be no exaggeration to say, millions of others have also done.

Was a seed sown on that day? No. I think the seed had been sown long before then. I had always enjoyed walking and had also taken up running whilst at school. My interest in running was actually an attempt to avoid football. The school football pitch was high up on the outskirts of Sheffield and, each week, pupils were given the option of running about on an exposed, sodden muddy field, often in the rain, kicking around a leaden leather football or running back to school, about five miles away. I soon realised, as the teams were picked and I was invariably one of the last on the touchline to be chosen, that football was not for me. I much preferred plan B. Each sports afternoon all the boys were taken by bus up to the football pitch and, usually about half a dozen of us footballophobes, accompanied by one of the teachers, ran back to school. There were several advantages to this. It was downhill most of the way. As I was fairly quick the run usually took less time than a football session so we got to the showers before the returning footballers, and I avoided muddy knees, sore toes and a generally miserable time standing about in the cold, waiting for no one to kick the ball to me.

I did also get involved in a number of long distance walks while at school. I completed the Lyke Wake Walk, a gruelling forty mile yomp over the North Yorkshire Moors, failed an attempt at the Pennine Way, giving up after 100 miles and, in the Lake District, climbed Scafell Pike and some of the surrounding hills and various other treks. I also completed Wainwright’s coast to coast, the first walk in which I was the lead, having to navigate, although, to be fair, it was pretty well signposted, even in the late 1970s.

I kept the running going throughout school and was fairly good, making the school teams, and gaining my colours, in cross country and athletics and actually competed in a few County Championships. I continued my running whilst at university and for a while afterwards. I trained for and competed in the first Sheffield Marathon in 1982. At that time it was the full distance, it is now only run as a half. I still have my commemorative ashtray for completing. An ashtray?! Yes, an ashtray! Don’t ask me why we were given an ashtray.

So what is the relevance of this running with regard to Munro bagging? Well, alongside the aforementioned ashtray I also have another reminder of my running days. My days of running about 70 miles per week in training. I have this reminder every time I descend off a hill, or even come down stairs. You guessed it. My knees. The huffing and puffing of me dragging myself up a hill is replaced with the sound of groans and general complaining on the subsequent descent.

Sadly, nearly half a century later, I now more resemble a grey seal than a greyhound although I have retained a reasonable level of stamina. I am now built more for comfort than speed and I aim to complete, rather than compete.

Following my ‘accidental’ Munro I then planned and carried out a solo crossing of Scotland from Stonehaven to Mallaig *. I wrote a full report of this walk which I won’t repeat here but I can say that this wonderful experience was certainly a turning point at which the seed planted a few years earlier flourished and started to blossom. It was the first time I found true solitude in the mountains. I remember the first time I looked around and realised that I could not see any roads or houses or obvious signs of human interference in the landscape. It gave me a momentary feeling of anxiety but that soon passed and I felt comfortable to be alone. I do know that much of the ‘natural’ beauty of the land is actually a result of human interference, sometimes of times long gone by. Many of the forests and lochs have been sculpted by man but they can still give a feeling of wilderness. This coast to coast also gave me my second and third Munros (Lochnagar and Ben More on Mull) although I was still blissfully unaware of the hobby of Munro bagging.

A few years then passed with little progress until a major event occurred. I bought a book. A book with pictures in it. I bought the SMC guide to the Munros which gave advice and routes for all 277 Munros. I also bought the book of Munro lists and other lists which included Corbetts and more. Whilst, by any stretch of the imagination, this could not be described as riveting reading, it did give lots of useful information and made me think that it gave me plenty of mountains to have a go at, although certainly not with any thoughts of climbing all of them, at least not in the early days. Before you start writing in to point out that there are 282 Munros, not 277, I would remind you that, as I am sure the older readers will remember, the number of Munros has been changing over the last few years, not as hills rise or sink, but as they are remeasured and opinions change as to what are separate Munros as opposed to tops. I have lost a number of my ticks as the list has evolved.

Jane and I used to holiday regularly in the Highlands, and still do. On each trip I would try to get a walk or two in and include some Munros. I started to tick off the ones I had done and then, the sign of a man getting hooked, I typed out the entire list of Munros, putting the climbed ones in black and the unclimbed in red. I would redo this after each trip. How sad!

I would like to point out to all you younger readers that I have not always been a technological dinosaur. I had moved at this stage from my old manual Olivetti portable typewriter to using a state of the art electric IBM golfball typewriter which included a correcting ribbon so Tippex was a thing of the past. I did still need however, to change the ribbon cartridge at regular intervals from black to red and back. I had mastered the art of ‘cut and paste’, but sadly only in relation to wallpapering a room. With practice I could update my list of climbed Munros in a mere two or three days.

My initial forays were based around the Fort William and Cairngorm areas. I soon came to love the Mamores, still my favourite mountain range south of the Great Glen. I also learned how fickle the weather can be. One day I set off from the car park at the head of Glen Nevis on a dull morning with a 1500ft cloud base. Half way through my circuit of the eastern Mamores the cloud had cleared and I was in a heatwave. People were suffering from dehydration and having to descend to replenish water supplies. Sunburn was a real danger. Just two days later I started from the same car park in identical conditions to attempt a circuit of the 4,000 footers to the north. I recalled my exploits earlier in the week and made sure I had plenty of water. I considered leaving some of my extra clothing behind but took it anyway. A few hours later I was huddling against the summit cairn perched on the cliff edge of Aonach Beag in a hailstorm, thankful for all the layers I had with me. I recall on that walk, having descended steeply the coll between Aonach Mor and Carn Mor Dearg looking back on my subsequent climb back up and being amazed at the apparently impossible descent I had just made. That trip taught me the lesson to, like a good boy scout, be prepared.

I also came to love the area around the Cairngorms. For many years we had wonderful family holidays camping by Loch Morlich. I would recommend that to anyone. I also took advantage and had some epic trips into the hills. The walks into Ben Avon and surrounding hills were over thirty miles and I actually had some days not seeing a sole all day. I doubt you could do that now. My crossing of the Cairngorms from north to south over Braeriach turned into a real adventure in a white out on the summit, a day to be remembered *.

I was probably about forty Munros in when I began to consider the prospect of doing them all, or at least making a fairly significant attempt at them.

I realised that I ought to try to tackle Skye fairly early on. I was neither confident nor skilled enough to attempt the Skye ridge alone. I put an advertisement in a local cafe in the Peak District stating ‘I will get us to the bottom of the Cuillin if you get us to the top’. Having received a reply I had a few days walking and climbing with the respondent, Richard, to ensure compatibility. I carried out my part of the bargain as we then ventured to Glenbrittle and made camp. He took over for his role of the guiding and we were rewarded with four out of five days of brilliant weather in which I experienced the full gamut of emotions ranging through wonder, fear, excitement and exhilaration with a smattering of awe, dread, trepidation and even pride thrown in for good measure.

There is one aspect of climbing of which I am quite good and enjoy. I’m quite adept at the apres climbing, holding a pint, sitting around a roaring fire in the pub once safely back on terra flat chatting about the day’s exploits. I am also very aware, whilst on a climb of the importance of keeping the three points of contact rule. Sadly my three points of contact are invariably my left ear, right buttock and a knee. I feel more comfortable with a sixteen point of contact rule, the more of my body in contact with the rock, barnacle fashion, the better.

I am of the opinion that there are two types of people who venture into the mountains, hillwalkers and climbers. A hillwalker will look at a difficult hill and try to find the easiest way to the top. A climber will look at an easy hill and try to find the most difficult way up. I fall firmly into the former category.

I used to find that climbers, at least in the past, tended to be more circumspect and deny being baggers, as if the mere thought of counting their hills was demeaning and below their own pure sport. However, if pushed they always knew their secret tally of hills. I have found more recently, however, that more of these closet climber baggers are prepared to come out and admit to keeping lists, or at least knowing how many they have climbed, without such an element of shame.

I did, despite my fears, find Skye an amazing experience. The rock, gabbro, is extremely rough and sticky. Whilst this does tend to knacker ropes quite quickly, it does give a very good grip which is good for the confidence of wimps like me.

Our first day’s attempt to get onto the ridge was a wash out. We made it to the level of the Cioch, the site of the famous sword fight in the film Highlander, which we could only just see in the gloom, but then both decided that conditions were too wet and slippery for either safety or enjoyment.

Following this initial disappointment, we then did the main ridge in three separate days. The first day covered the five southern Munros. Having negotiated the Theallach Dubh gap, which was quite scary, and traversing Collies Ledge on Sgurr Mhic Choinnich which was very scary, we eventually reached the base of the In Pin, which I had been worrying about all day anticipating it to be super scary. I actually found this the easiest of the three main climbs of the day. Although the exposure was intense, the holds and the actual climb were relatively easy and, after two pitches, I found myself safely on the top of what is, undoubtedly, the hardest Munro.

My favourite of the Cuillin mountains (hills is too inadequate a term to describe this magnificent range) was actually Sgurr nan Gillean, the most northerly Munro on the ridge. The ascent from Sligachan was exposed, but not too scary and the view from the narrow summit ridge was truly breathtaking. We then continued on to another of the classic Skye peaks, Am Basteir. I am not a fanatical top ticker and had told Richard, much to his disappointment that I was not wanting to go up the Basteir tooth, I had had quite enough buttock clenching moments. We therefore continued on our way to what is actually the easiest, which is a comparative term in relation to the Cuillin Ridge, of the Skye Munros, Bruach Na Frithe (the name of which always seems to remind me of Watership Down). En route I found myself following Richard up a large slab of rock, at the top of which we sat down to admire the view towards the safe haven of the Sligachan Hotel. I was suspicious of our location and put it to him that we were on top of the Basteir Tooth, which had been on my ‘not to do’ list. He admitted we were, claiming he had forgotten my earlier instruction to avoid it and that it was the easiest way to continue our route anyway. A likely story indeed. He was soon forgiven however as it was indeed a breathtaking spot.

Following a further exhilarating day on the central Munros of the ridge and a foray to the only Munro of the Red Cuillin, Bla Bheinn, which gave a stunning panorama of the whole Black Cuillin ridge, our trip to Skye was successfully completed and I was able to tick off the most challenging Munros of my list, whilst both body and spirit were still capable.

As a postscript to that trip , on the way back we stopped off in Glencoe and did the Aonach Eagach ridge, even managing to leave the rope we took as a precaution, safely tucked away in the rucksack, feeling confident enough not to need it.

Over the next few years my ticks were amassed steadily, even if not speedily. I managed at least one new Munro every year, except for 1991 when, in my defence, I did manage a trip to the Himalayas. Most years I added twenty or so until reaching the double century. Over the last few years my TPYs (ticks per year) have slowed right down. There are a number of reasons for this. Age may have played a part, as has the need to be travelling further afield to find virgin hills.

I have been accused of ‘Munrocentricity’ to which there may be an element of truth. I do not however feel I have been exclusively hunting down new Munros to the detriment of all other challenges. I have repeated quite a few Munros, some to do in better weather than on a first trip, some as they made routes more practical and some just because I really liked them. I have actually climbed Ben Nevis seven times, by a variety of routes, proving in the process that The Ben is only clear one in seven days, as my last excursion was the first time I had a view from the top. I have climbed a number of others two or three times. I have also been exploring lower areas (which does not make them any lesser) and also enjoyed a number of long distance cycle rides including the length of the Outer Hebrides and Shetland. I have actually cycled from house to house, Sheffield to Laide which was quite some trip.

I hope I can class myself as not just a fair weather Munro bagger. It is true that the majority of my hills have been climbed in spring, summer or autumn but I can lay claim to having around thirty Munros compleated in full winter conditions. I don’t just mean a little snow lying around in small areas, but on hills where I have made use of crampons and a walking axe. In anticipation of this, quite early on in my bagging career, I went on a four day mountain survival course based in the Ballachulish area, staying at the Alex McIntyre memorial hut in Onich. The course was hard work but enjoyable and suitable for my requirements. I learned the basics of avalanche awareness and how to use the equipment along with digging a snow cave, something I have never had to do in anger but it was satisfying to be able to do. We practised arresting a slide and navigation in poor weather. I would certainly not proclaim to be proficient in any of these areas but it was useful and I have been able to put a little into practice. Sadly, I did learn a very important lesson during this course. On one of the days the plan was to try some very basic ice climbing on Bidean nan Ban. My instructor, having studied the various forecasts for the day was not happy with the avalanche conditions on the mountain, decided that we would change our plans and practise some micro navigation in another area. When we returned that evening we discovered that a professional instructor and his student, coincidentally actually from Sheffield, on another course had been killed in an avalanche on the very mountain we had been planning to be on earlier in the day. This was extremely sobering and emphasised the importance of being prepared but also that accidents can happen and the results can be disastrous. We were so grateful that our instructor had taken heed of her instincts and used her experience to change our plans, emphasising to us that no one has to be in the mountains, it is a personal choice, and sometimes it is better to live to fight another day. The mountains will always be there. Poor decision making could mean that we are not.

I haven’t actually logged the weather conditions on all my walks. I have had plenty of views of the inside of clouds but also plenty of clear views. It is difficult to list a top 10. They would not always be the obvious ones. Different things make some of the walks special

Perversely, building our house in Laide has contributed to slowing progress on the Munro bagging front. When, initially, a trip from Sheffield to the Highlands to bag a few hills encountered bad weather, the Munros would be bagged, whatever. I wasn’t going to waste any opportunity having driven many hundreds of miles to get there.

Once I had my haven on Gruinard Bay I had the option of bagging Munros, or not bagging Munros, as the mood took me. No trip to Scotland was wasted, there was always gardening or housework to do. I did use travelling between Sheffield and Laide to take a break en route to climb missing hills.

I then had the decision as to which Munro to leave until last. My early plan to save this honour for Schiehallion was scuppered when I was in the area and had too good an opportunity to climb it to miss, so I did *. An Teallach was always high on my plan . I had been in contact with Clive who was a fan of this mountain and he was very keen to climb it for the fourth time. This would mean me again having to rethink. I then came up with a cunning plan so that we could enjoy the mountain together and yet still leave it for my last. We climbed Sgurr Fiona,* although I did avoid the pinnacles which Clive skipped across. The bypass route which I took was itself quite exposed and then I circuited around Bidein a Glass Thuill so, whilst being high up on its slopes, I could save the summit for my grand finale. I did enjoy Sgurr Fiona so much that I snuck up it a few months later in the most erotic ascent of my Munro bagging life! *

The last few years have involved quite a bit of ‘tidying up’, filling in missing ticks in different areas. It has actually been very enjoyable revisiting areas I had not been in for many years to turn them completely blue.

And so, a couple of years ago I was left with just the one red tick. In many ways I have been reluctant to finish, and have been making excuses to delay. Once the final Munro has been bagged there is no going back and it cannot be unbagged, or would that be debagged?. The journey would be over, at least that particular journey, a journey of over half a lifetime.

It was at this point that the ‘C’ mentioned at the beginning of this report reared its ugly head. Following a routine bowel cancer scan I was told that there was some good news, and some bad news. The good news was that my bowel was lovely and clear. However, the bad news was that something else showed up on the scan which needed further examination. Following further scans and a biopsy I found I was hosting a quite large liposarcoma in my right hip. I was told it could be left alone and may or may not continue to grow but was advised to have it removed sooner rather than later as it would be harder to get rid of if it became much larger. I didn’t know how long I had been home to this unwanted guest, or how quickly it was growing so it was an easy decision and now, following an operation earlier in the year I am now liposarcomaless, hopefully permanently. For practical reasons the operation, which took about two hours, was done under local spinal anaesthetic. I found the best way to cope during the operation was to mentally put myself on the ridge on the bealach between the two An Teallach Munros, where I had been a couple of times, looking up towards Bidein a Ghlas Thuill, my only missing Munro and so, mentally at least, took myself out of the room as the surgeon was digging away into my upper leg. I now have a lovely eight inch scar and a certain amount of soreness but am able to walk again. I also have the knowledge that, although removed, there is always a possibility that the sarcoma may return. My surgeon who was a keen hillwalker himself, was empathetic towards my concerns re future mobility and was confident that I would be up to the task of compleating, although not for a few months. This episode made me question my mortality and gave me the impetus to stop delaying and make plans to compleat my Munro bagging adventure.

I spent the next few months working on my fitness and trying to build my daily mileage up again. From just a few steps initially, then moving about our flat and gradually increasing to a few miles a day until, within only about four months, distance was much less of a problem. I felt I was ready to bite the bullet and compleat. It had been good, during this recuperation, to make plans and prepare to get a few people together to help me in this final push and celebrate the event.

And so we come to the final day, and the conclusion of this journey. Family and friends were coordinated and housed at various locations in the area.

At 8.45am the motley crew met up at the parking area near to the Dundonnell Mountain Rescue post. With me were my eldest son, Daniel, my youngest son, Elliot, my son-in-law, James (Big Jim), my 8 year old grandson, also James (Little Jim), my brother, Leigh and his wife Lesley who had flown up from near London, friends Pete, formerly of Sheffield, now Nantwich, and Julia (along with her dog Lola) from Sheffield, Nigel from Ayrshire (although formerly South Yorkshire) and Dougie who had come over from Inverness for a day trip. I know there were a number of others who were with us in spirit although unable to join us on the day.

I had decided that Naismith would play no part in the day’s plans and his 3 hours and 20 mins estimate would be replaced by a much more pleasurable 5 hours target to the top. The day was to be one to be enjoyed, not endured, no racing up allowed.

There was a sea mist which came right down to ground level but we were confident this was not deep as we could see the sun trying to break through. At exactly 9.00am we started up the path behind the houses and sure enough within a quarter of an hour or so, and a few hundred vertical feet we came out of the cloud and the views were extensive and spectacular. Our plan was to gain early height by taking the path up onto the ridge which would lead us round towards the base of the summit, rather than follow the river which we were aware may be boggy. We were aware that the path to the right was quite indistinct and could easily be missed so we were all on the lookout, determined not to miss it. Sure enough… we missed it and found ourselves on the lower path.

Little Jim, even on the lower slopes, began to have doubts in himself as the scale of his upcoming task began to sink in. He was persuaded to push on a bit with the lure of magic sweets (actually gummy bears thanks to Lesley) and the promise he could turn back if it became too hard for him. We were all conscious that trying to push an eight year old beyond his capabilities, even though he had previously climbed Ben Nevis, could be counterproductive, not just for the day but also for the future so he was set short range targets and the promise of regular magic sweets. The decision was made to head straight up the hillside to our right to gain the rising ridge. With this change of route and sense of adventure scaling the open hillside, Little Jim had a new lease of life which remained with him for the rest of the day.

Now we were above the cloud, the sun, which had been noticeably missing in the area for the previous month, now beat down on us. We were at risk of sunburn and dehydration so stopped for a view appreciation stop (I never take rests, but loads of stops to appreciate views, sometimes sitting down to do so) to rehydrate as we were part way up the rising ridge. We could now see our target for the day beckoning us from ahead. Julia was becoming concerned that Lola, whose coat was quite thick was becoming overheated so made the very sensible decision to take her back down, selflessly sacrificing her own summit aspirations.

The rest of us continued upwards, now drawn towards the ever nearing summit pyramid. Little Jim’s magic sweets must have been working overtime as his position near the rear of the group changed to near the front as he powered his way up the steepening path.

The elders of the group, Pete, Nigel and I took our positions to the rear as the youngsters, now led by the youngest, headed up towards the top.

As the trig point came into view I could see Little Jim jumping around with a few others so knew the end was in sight, and not just the end of the day’s walk.

I let Pete and Nigel go ahead, they knew without any words being spoken why I had slowed down, so they continued without me. The enormity of the next few moments began to hit home. This was not just the end of a day’s climb. This was the conclusion of something which had started over 41 years earlier, almost two thirds of my lifetime. This was something I could never do again, however much I walked, however many hills I climbed. I could never compleat again. Never again would there be a Munro I had not climbed. Further rounds would be possible but not be the same, and I knew I would certainly not be attempting such things.

I entered a kind of 'out of body' experience, I knew I was still on the hill, now alone, and I was aware the others were all ahead of me but my mind was on all the Munros I had ever climbed, all blended into this one moment. I was not just about to finish this Munro, I was about to finish all the Munros.

I paused for a moment, then dragged myself back to reality. I looked up and saw the others all looking back towards me. Without an ounce of tiredness in my legs, adrenaline took over and I proudly strode the final few paces as the sound of applause came down to meet me. I stopped a couple of feet from the OS column, took off my rucksack, laid it on the ground and, taking a deep breath, took the final pace and flung both arms over the top of the column.

I was there, I had made it. I put my head onto my arms and tried to take in what had just happened. I had just compleated the Munros. I stood up and brought myself back to reality. The reality was that I was on the summit of Bidein a’ Ghlas Thuill. This was my 282nd and final Munro. I was surrounded by my family and close friends. The summit was clear, the views were stupendous, in all directions. The rest of An Teallach was spread out around me, Sgurr Fiona and its adjacent pinnacles and cliffs could be seen in all their magnificence. I could see out over all the neighbouring peaks, knowing I had climbed all that were over 3000ft, along with a number of others. I could see the sea, the Summer Isles, Loch Ewe and even nearer I could see Gruinard Bay with it’s infamous island. I could see my house. I don’t think many people can stand on their final Munro and say that. I did get my binoculars out and could clearly see it. I phoned Jane and proudly announced that we had succeeded and were on the top. She broke off from preparing our evening’s chilli and trained the scope towards us. We all lined up and started waving and she confirmed that she could see us on the top. I think the three other ladies who were having a quiet moment on the summit until we all arrived thought we must be mad and took some persuading that the remaining members of our family could actually see us. I have previously looked at the summit from the house and seen people on the top so knew we really could be seen.

I had anticipated that this may be an emotional moment but had been pretty sure that I would not cry. I had thought that at my daughter’s wedding a few years earlier and succeeded until the time for the father/daughter dance came and the first line of Sunrise Sunset played ‘Is this the little girl I carried?’ at which point I gave in. I challenge any father of the bride to remain dry eyed under those circumstances. I was succeeding quite well on this occasion until Daniel came up to me and presented me with a scale model of An Teallach which he had made with a 3D printer, beautifully painted and on a plinth with a plaque to commemorate the day’s (and the previous 15050 day’s) achievement at which all semblance of dignity disappeared and the tears flowed.

Even the surrounding hills started to put on a show as a lightning strike hit nearby Beinn Dearg and thunder played out around the nearby hills. Whilst this was spectacular it did rather bring us all back to reality and we realised it was time to leave the summit and make our way down to safer territory. There was very little wind so nothing was going to happen quickly but the message received was that we had better make our move so started to head down. I had planned to come down the path by the river so this would mean we would be losing height early which turned out to be quite sensible under the circumstances. The descent was simple, although, as usual, almost as tiring as the ascent. We were hit by a rainstorm on the way down so waterproofs were called for and below about 500 feet the midges were ready and waiting for their helpless victims. It did seem very appropriate that rain and midges were part of my last Munro as they had played quite a part in my Munro bagging journey, but there was no way either were going to spoil this day.

We all made it safely down and, having bid our farewell to Dougie who had to get back to Inverness, reconvened back at my house where Jane and the others had done us all proud with a slap up meal and the chance to chat and consider what an amazing day had been had by all, especially me.

On the ascent I was asked which had been my favourite Munro. I was genuinely unable to answer that question. There are so many reasons why a Munro is special: the mountain itself, the route taken, the weather and the views, and the people you are walking with. When I got down to the bottom of the mountain I was now finally able to answer that question. Today had everything I could possibly have asked for. To compleat on that mountain, with those conditions, with those views, in the company of my family and friends, there could be no other possible answer: An Teallach is my favourite mountain.

I am so grateful to all who helped me make this day special, so very special. Everyone played a part. I am also grateful to all the others who have been a part of my journey over the years. It would be impossible to name names or single out particular people so I won’t try to do so, there have been so many.

Munro bagging is a hobby, sport, pastime or whatever you want to call it, like no other. It takes you to places you would not otherwise go, lets you meet people you might not otherwise meet. You make friends for life, and have experiences unlike any other. It becomes a part of your fabric and, along with family defines who you are, at least it has me.

I hope you like this report, after all it has been over forty years in the preparation. I have enjoyed writing it immensely. Most of the photographs are from others in the group so thanks to them and a particular thank you to Leigh for the drone footage.

Thank you for reading and for sharing my journey with me.

Keith Sayliss

Munro compleatist no: 7239

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5.45am Up early with the day's target in view


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Raring to go


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Rising above the sea mist


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Appreciating the view (not resting)


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Appreciating the view nearer the top


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Nearly there (with my house in the background)




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It was cracked before I leant on it...honest


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A happy bunch


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3 generations


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A very moving moment!


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Enjoying the view


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The view


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More view


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Back home


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7.45pm Spot the difference to the first photo

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KeithS


User avatar
Location: Sheffield/Laide
Activity: Munro compleatist
Pub: Clachaig or Drovers
Mountain: An Teallach
Place: Gruinard Bay
Munro rounds: 1

Munros: 282
Corbetts: 5
Fionas: 2
Wainwrights: 9
Hewitts: 14
Sub 2000: 3
Islands: 47
Long Distance routes: West Highland Way    Great Glen Way   



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Statistics

2022

Trips: 1
Distance: 12 km
Ascent: 1120m
Munros: 1

2020

Trips: 1
Sub2000s: 1

2017

Trips: 1
Distance: 17.5 km
Ascent: 1160m
Munros: 1

2016

Trips: 2
Distance: 54 km
Ascent: 1000m
Munros: 5

2015

Trips: 1
Distance: 15 km
Ascent: 870m
Munros: 1

2014

Trips: 1
Distance: 14 km
Ascent: 1370m
Munros: 2

2012

Trips: 3
Distance: 57.5 km
Ascent: 3800m
Munros: 3

2011

Trips: 1
Distance: 9 km
Ascent: 760m
Munros: 1

1996

Trips: 1
Distance: 33 km
Ascent: 1800m
Munros: 4

1995

Trips: 1
Distance: 35 km
Ascent: 3050m
Munros: 9

1985

Trips: 1
Distance: 80 km

1984

Trips: 1
Distance: 320 km


Joined: Nov 01, 2010
Last visited: Feb 13, 2024
Total posts: 893 | Search posts