Colossal lorries whizzed past at an alarming proximity and velocity as we marched down one of the A96’s soggy verges. We had began our first Marilyn bagging adventure in a layby about halfway between Inverurie and Huntly in rural Aberdeenshire. Following directions extracted from a Walk Highlands forum, our first step was to reach the nearby village of Colpy.

Grateful to leave the A96 behind, it took us about 45 minutes to ascend the Hill of Foudland’s 467 metres. On a better day we would have been treated to a panoramic vista of North-East countryside, but on this occasion the summit was shrouded in low cloud. Happily though, we had ticked our first Sub 2000 Marilyn of the list. I celebrated by fervently dropping my mango all over the ground while Rory went for a celebratory pee in the nearby heather.

Next we had to figure out how to reach our second Marilyn, preferably without another encounter with one of Scotland’s busiest trunk roads. We accidentally summited the Hill of Skares as we attempted to make a beeline for the Hill of Tillymorgan.

Separating us from our next summit was a steep descent down to the valley floor. We agreed it didn’t look very promising, as we examined the loose scree and sharp slate rock below. Having exhausted any other possibilities and eaten our sandwiches, we set off down the slope, my arms flailing as I tried to avoid break a leg or an unexpected cartwheel.

At the bottom we crossed the A96 and then found ourselves circumnavigating the border of a farmer’s large seeded field. During this whole episode I continuously strained over my shoulder, concerned the farmer would spot us from his visible farmhouse.

Traversing an unreasonably high barbed wire fence, we were met with a tougher challenge in the form of the River Urie. Recent rainfall had transformed this small stream into a raging brown torrent. In what could barely be described as a bridge, some local mountain bikers had placed a sizeable branch nearby.

“God I’m a natural at this”, I thought to myself immediately before nearly toppling like a tower of jenga into the fast flowing water. Having righted myself sucessfully, I celebrated wildly as we tried to find our bearings on the opposite side on the north bank of the Urie. I found it slightly disheartening that this was the happiest I’d felt in quite a while. It’s the small victories that count.

The next section proved to be the steepest, constituting direct route through the quiet forest along mountain bike trails. Eventually we reached the first of the gigantic wind turbines which are so visible from the road. We spent a few minutes watching it while getting our breath back. “Whoosh.” I found the constant movement of its blades…”Whoosh”….and the noise it was making…”Whoosh”… both intimidating and mesmeric.

From there on it was a short hike around deep quarries of natural slate and through a herd of perplexed looking sheep. With sodden feet and a sense of achievement we enjoyed a more fulfilling view from the Hill of Tillymorgan. We had considered hunting down Fourman Hill as well, but decided to head for home because our feet were wet and I had holes in my trainers. Bear Grylls eat your heart out!

The descent was navigated with ease, despite noting that our trusty directions included a rant about wind turbines and ‘Eco-warriors’. I personally enjoyed watching these colossal devices at work, but understand why they’re not everybody’s cup of tea.

The only low point of the trek back to the car was another short trudge along the A96. This was soon forgotten however, as we celebrated our first bout of Marilyn bagging with a packet of hula hoops. Two down, 571 to go.

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