Loch Lochy Munros

Nothing marks the passage of time like going back somewhere you haven't been for a while. You might think the hills would be an exception: they've barely changed in thousands of years. 

"We can see thirty miles," said my companion, looking northwest from Meall na Teanga, "and not a sign of human activity."

But though the hills haven't changed, wait long enough, and you will! 

I've written about Loch Lochy before (A Great Glen Adventure), and this was my first return to the two Munros west of the loch. The shortest and most popular route goes from Laggan Locks to the north-east. A forest road and signposted hill track takes you to a bealach at 2,000ft and a straightforward ascent of Sròn a' Choire Ghairbh on a fine stalker's path. From here, the round of the corrie looks a fine prospect, including the Corbett Ben Tee.

But we're not here for the Corbetts! The next objective is Meall na Teanga on the other side of the bealach, another Munro. Today, a short stretch of snow over an awkward step meant the ice axe had to come out. I was delighted. It was my first axe work all year!

After the step, the summit. A clear view down Loch Linnhe, then a big arc of wild country round Ardgour, Knoydart, Kintail, Glen Affric. But it was Ben Nevis that grabbed the eye, enrobed in snow.  

The hills today were bathed in spring sunshine and simple to navigate. What a contrast to the last time I was here in the 1990s! We tackled Meall na Teanga from the south. It was a wild wintery day, cloud down, nothing to see in the blizzard, hard to stand up in the wind, which made the descent off Meall Coire Lochain to Meall na Teanga particularly 'interesting'. The reascent to the second Munro was suspiciously quick, until we checked the map and realised we'd climbed an intervening lower peak (Meall Dubh) by mistake! Today I was appalled at the bog we must have crossed on descent of Sròn a' Choire Ghairbh back to Gleann Chi-aig. There's no way I would cross that sort of terrain today if there was an easier option. 

It's true what they say: it won't be the same if you go back. And it wasn't the same: today was far better. But even if the hills haven't changed, frankly, I have. I wouldn't even attempt these hills today in the kind of weather we experienced thirty years ago. 

The People You Know

The people you know will get you into all sorts of scrapes and adventures. After all, they form a large part of who you are. People talk about nature or nuture, but it's not just your parents or your innate personality that moulds you. The people you surround yourself with are also crucial.

The reason I know this is rooted in an event over four years ago, when I got a nasty case of sciatica. I seemed to recover fairly quickly - by the end of the year I was up a hill again, the Cairnwell - but less than a year later I climbed Suilven with a walking stick and just one working leg. When it first happened, I told myself I would celebrate my recovery to fitness with something I'd never done before - an ultramarathon. But as the years rolled on, as Covid disrupted my routines and dog ownership affected my ability to rest and recover, an ultramarathon seemed further away than ever. A year ago today I tried to jog 10km and failed, pulling up short at 8km with an injury. It was a real low point.

That's where other people came in.

At the start of the John Muir Way Ultramarathon

I am in a running club and a cani-cross club, and a surprising number of club members had done an ultramarathon before. Many of them had done several. There was one woman in particular who had recovered from injury while still walking her dogs every day, and I was particularly keen to hear her story. I heard the same phrases so often that I actually started to believe them. The 50km ultramarathon I had signed up to was a "nice easy one," I would "enjoy it," and even though I really didn't know if I could handle the distance, I would "manage it no bother." People pointed out that I had done a marathon six years earlier. They had more belief in me than I did, and that confidence started to seep in.

That support led me to Port Seton esplanade this weekend for the John Muir Way Ultra, freezing on the start line along with 340 other hardy souls in a cold east wind, with the belief I could do this. We set off, the advice to "start slow, and get slower - you'll be fine!" in my ears. I followed the advice - my body frankly, couldn't manage more than a trundle anyway. But I got there in one piece.

An ultramarathon completed!

The dog walker with the injury was one of those 340 other people and in a lovely touch, she had waited at the finish to congratulate me. "You're an ultramarathoner now!" she said. The biggest mental milestone in my recovery from injury has been achieved. If it seemed less amazing a feat than it did four years ago, when I was doubled over in pain and popping co-codamols like there was no tomorrow, it was thanks to the people around me making it seem an everyday, unintimidating thing to do.

Thanks, folk who know me, this one's on you!

So what should I try next??