Scotland is fucking cold in October. As we walked towards the car parked by the lake, all I wore were dark jeans, some walking boots I found in my Dad’s back cupboard, two jumpers, a leather Superdry jacket and a Russian military cap.
Dan and Rob were dressed in a similarly unprepared and ridiculous fashion. Let’s rewind two nights before this silly dress-up event where it was only then the prospect of dying on top of Ben Nevis, the UK’s tallest mountain, was really sinking in.
“You’ll catch exposure” one said. “You need proper equipment. You can’t just climb up the mountain” said another. Yet it was remarks like these that caused Rob to come up with the plan in the first place.
When he approached me with the idea of climbing Ben Nevis for his birthday I said yes with very little forethought. “Ride or die” is the saying, I believe. I knew I had some stuff lying around, “somewhere”, that I’d be able to find the night before I leave.
It was the nay-sayer attitude of others that fuelled Rob’s desire to climb in the first place. “You put one foot forward, then place your other foot in front of that one, then repeat the process until you’re at the top”, were his words.
Rob’s family joined us in the quest, who were infinitely more prepared than we were, and couldn't contain their laughter. We reminded them of the village people.
It took us 5 hours to climb up and down again, passing several well-prepared veteran climbers. Halfway up Daniel attempted to waterproof himself over his leather biker jacket with a black plastic bag. He’s a pretty big guy and watching this attempt was like watching Vin Diesel fasten a baby’s bib around his neck.
When we got to the top it was like we entered limbo. It was dark, foggy, almost otherworldly and really, really freaking cold. We celebrated with a hi-five then tucked into a pot of Tesco pasta. Cheese and tomato.
I've recently finished reading Alastair Humphrey’s books on his cycle around the world, and all throughout he received warnings that the next country he was entering was dangerous, the road to his next checkpoint would be full of thieves and he would surely die.
But he was fine because the people in those supposedly corrupt countries were just humans like you and I. Even when he rode through Columbia, after being advised not to by well trained military veterans who were “in the know”, he found the people there to be incredibly hospitable. Not a single shred of trouble was to be found as he rode north towards America.
Listen, I've done a lot of stupid shit in my time: hitchhiking a small slither of Europe and quitting a job with very little money backing me to try and start a business (I failed) are the first that come to mind. Every time I came out swinging.
The things you need to climb Ben Nevis are:
- ignorance of nay-sayers;
- child-like naivety;
- boots that will last for around three-quarters of your trek before falling apart to resemble a Sesame Street puppet;
- around three layers covering your torso area;
- jeans from Topman;
- lucky pants;
- pasta, water and other unhealthy salt & sugar-laden snacks;
- hat left over by stranger from some party many years prior;
- most importantly - good friends.
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