On The Tragic Love Story of Hillwalking — Tales from a Munro-ist
I got off the Caledonian Express at Dalwhinnie at 0705hrs. The stop appears to be in the middle of no-where. There are only a few cottages by the station, a petrol kiosk and a small hotel. It is the entrance to a 15km path into Scottish mountain remoteness that leads to a six munro combo starting from the Curla Bothy. A bothy is a small hut that is open for public use in the mountains.
A munro is a mountain in Scotland with a height over 3,000 feet or 914m. There are 282 of these. Hill walkers who go around taking them all are called Munro-ists.

I started on the four munro combo at 1300hrs. the recommended time for the route was beteween 7–9 hours. I believed that my background as a soldier and ‘top’ fitness would mean I would complete it sooner rather than later.
I began by following the route instructions told me search for a faint path to reach the top of the ridge before following it to the summit. After much searching, there was none. Relying on my instincts, I bashed forward up the 70 degree slope, carrying my 12kg pack. It was exhausting. My calves were screaming from the abuse. By the time I arrived at the cairn (summit indicator) at Cairn Dearg. I screamed into the wind in exhilaration. I had completed my first Munro!
But, by then I had already spent 3 hours. Time was ticking. I could only hike as long as the sun was up. Plus, I had 3 more Munros to go…I could not afford to rest on my laurels. I quickly soldiered on.

The second munro was not too far away. When I got to the base of the steep ascent, I could not help but feel a sense of dread. It was steeper than the previous climb. My mind constantly wondered what in the world was I doing in the wilderness putting myself through this agony. What was I thinking! This is no holiday! Interspersed with these thoughts, as I climbed, the moaning wind kept brushing against me. Each time I thrust my foot forward, I was spanked by its cold touch. It was awful but yet I was strangely seduced by this agony. It made me continue.

When I got to the top, I reached a flat plateau. But, what I was greeted with was not an embrace of triumph by a glorious naked view of the highlands. Rather, I was presented with a covered up view. Visibility was no more than 40m. Following the instructions, I continued to follow the ridge to locate the cairn, and hopefully move on to the third munro. However, to my great disappointment, I could not locate it. I ended up following the ridge to its end and started going down a cliff edge. I was walking blind. Just then, I saw those two deer, and again I was seduced by their grace. I followed them eagerly under the grey light.

The mist cleared temporarily and what I saw was a mountain scape that was not on my miserable 1:25 000 ordinance scale map! I realised I must have wandered really way off track. This was trouble! I had fallen into the trap of the seductive munros! Going back was an option but the munro was covered in cloud cover. Forwards was the only option.
Eventually I spotted a service road from far. It looked 6–8km away. There was no path, so I would have had to bash through. The munro had bested me. I was retreating in failure. The path of humiliation was not easy either. I walked through bogs, unexpected holes and rocky terrain. My boots got wet from a river crossing and the midges attacked vehemently me like rebel x-wing pilots bent on destroying the death star. It was horrible. By the time I got to the road, I realised that I was far removed from civilisation. The ground was either too hard or too boggy. I could not pitch my tent for relief. I kept walking in the dark looking for a good spot. I kept walking till 2300hrs in my flip flops. By then I had given up on finding a nice clearing and slept on the Wild Scottlish Highland road.

My only comfort was the moon. She was the most beautiful moon I had ever seen in the past year. Cloaked in yellow, bright with grace, her moon glow gave me encouragement to keep moving. My companion for the night as the outlines of the munros sniggered at my incompetence.
The next morning, salvation arrived in the form of a nice driver. I managed to hitchhike my way back to fort william, re-supply and try again. My heart was however left in the highlands, with my incomplete munros. I missed them.
The munros have a way into your heart. They are always playing hard to get. To conquer one requires tremendous effort. However, it is what makes it exciting! Especially when they give you a view of their natural beauty, your heart flutters with a million butterflies. Suddenly all your pain is forgotten and you want to go again. They suck you deeper in their charms. Deeper and deeper, to a point of no return. Sadly, all this passion and love is one-sided.
The munros have a cruel heart. No matter how much you labour or scream at their peaks, they will never remember your name. Their minds as fickle as the wind. In a fit, they could cover themselves in grey clouds or burst into stormy tears. You have absolutely no control and method to charm them into loving you back. On their steep slopes, falling over means certain death or serious injury. Deep in the remote Scottish highlands where phones get no signal and GPS depletes the battery rapidly, getting injured means serious trouble. The munros does not care. It will not shed a tear for your spilled blood. It is indifferent. It’s heart is cold. Still…it is still so captivating.
All the efforts are meaningless. Was it infatuation or was it love?
Whatever feelings they were; it was not reciprocated.
Yet the charmed hill walker continues on to take them all.
